The Ambiguity of Trust
by Linndechir
Summary: co-authored with Chi. A chronicle of the friendship between Jarlaxle Baenre and Zaknafein Do'Urden, two rebels in a female dominated society who aspire to freedom. Their friendship is tested as they grow older, bound for vastly different fates.
1. Chapter One

A/N: There is no canon version of a large part of Jarlaxle and Zaknafein's friendship, only a mention in The Silent Blade that they were friends. This is one version of their friendship. Our story starts when Zak is in his graduating year at Melee Magthere. That makes him about thirty. Jarlaxle is a century older. In this version, Jarlaxle has only been a mercenary for the past fifty or so years.

Jarlaxle is all Chi's, and Zaknafein is all mine. (I wish. ;))

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**Chapter One**

Zaknafein had decided to leave the Academy as quickly as possible after today's lessons, mainly to escape the unwanted attention of one of the teachers. His time at Melee-Magthere neared its end, and as he didn't know yet what life would await him as soldier of House Do'Urden the young fighter tried to get as much out of his last months at the Academy as possible. Nobody cared where the last-year students went in their spare time, especially not when it came to commoners whose death wouldn't interest anyone.

His hands stayed close to his simple, unadorned swords - he wouldn't be surprised if some of his class mates would try to kill him now and leave the Academy as first of the class ...

Once out of the Academy Zaknafein headed directly for one of the main streets that led to the poorer parts of the city - he couldn't afford the classy taverns around the Academy, nor did he want to run across one of his teachers or fellow students.

A melodic voice assailed him. "Where are you going?"

The voice belonged to a young male dressed in the most splendid - and somehow the most awful - finery, sitting on the sill of a garden planter. His _piwafwi_ - if that's what it was - shone with all the colours of the spectrum. Juxtaposed with those bright colours, the rich crimsons of his vest and breeches and the punchy purple of his wide-brimmed hat seemed like fire. In complete contrast, he wore knee high black boots that shone with fresh polish. But most oddly for a young, unmarred male, he wore an eye patch.

Zaknafein stopped immediately when he heard the voice and gave the stranger a surprised look. For a moment he wondered if the other male was really talking to him, but there was no one else near them. The hood still hid his hair, but his handsome face was clearly visible. He didn't know what to think of this gaudily dressed male, but he had to be rich, and Zaknafein had learnt that it was a bad idea to be _too_ disrespectful to nobles.

The colourfully dressed male chuckled at the look on his face.

Zaknafein frowned a bit, but instead of ignoring the stranger or snapping at him he said in a wary, but not aggressive tone, "I do not know why that would concern you."

He was curious, but he preferred to get away from this odd drow as quickly as possible.

The male broke out in a grin.

"It wouldn't - except if you wanted a free drink at the Twirling Blades. I know you'd like to go there. Why not? You're a talented young student, and I'm a Gynassi Street mercenary." He winked. "You've got the better of me, surely." He also held his hands' palm up for inspection. His hands were uncalloused. Not the hands of a fighter.

Zaknafein looked, if anything, more suspicious than before. The mercenary looked even more untrustworthy than other drow, but then again, he was probably not worse than the drow Zaknafein often spend his evenings with. And a mercenary was still preferable to some haughty noble from the first houses.

These thoughts crossed his mind in barely two seconds, until he just nodded. He had never been a coward, although it usually caused him only trouble.

The male hopped off of the garden planter and clapped his hands together.

"Splendid! I do hope we get to be friends - but I'm getting ahead of myself." He dropped onto one knee and swept off his hat. His head was completely shaven.

"Jarlaxle D'aerthe, of Bregan D'aerthe, at your service, young master Zaknafein."

Zaknafein stared at Jarlaxle as if the mercenary was completely insane - and judging by what he had seen so far, he _had _to be insane. But then an amused little smirk appeared on Zaknafein's lips - at least he could be sure that his companion for the evening would be entertaining.

He ignored Jarlaxle's odd first sentence - unless he meant allies, it just didn't make sense - and asked suspiciously, "Why do you know how I am?"

Jarlaxle got back to his feet, twirled his hat, and placed it back on his head with a grin. He gave the young swordfighter an astonished expression.

"Why, everyone knows who you are. Have you not yet grasped your fame, Zaknafein? You are the most celebrated young talent in Melee Magthere. Priestesses make bets on who will have you." He waved his hands. "All the Weapon Masters are talking about being deposed by you. I just had to come and see you."

He gave Zaknafein admiring looks. "You are simply fantastic in the flesh. I would wager on you." He winked. "I never wager on people who don't win."

Before Zak could say anything, he said, "Then why am I just a Gynassi Street mercenary?" He cupped a hand to the side of his mouth as if being conspiratory. "I'm on the up and up."

He walked closer, and circled around the young student, rubbing his chin. "Yes, yes, simply marvellous." He stopped, cocked his head, and asked, "You have a future, do you know that?"

Zaknafein tried to suppress a proud little grin at the mercenary's words, but he didn't manage completely. Despite his skill his teachers were always quick to remind him that he was only a filthy commoner who would never be more than a soldier, or the Weapon Master of some tiny house. Jarlaxle's words were like music in Zaknafein's ears.

"You are exaggerating," he said nonetheless. "The high-ranking Matrons have their own sons; they don't need me."

There was anger in his unusually deep voice, but he grinned again when Jarlaxle circled around him. Zaknafein stayed wary, always ready for an attack, but he knew those looks Jarlaxle gave him all too well.

"You might just tell me what you want. If you want me in your bed, I can understand that, but I doubt that's why you're here," he said, his voice cocky.

"Oh? Are you so sure?" Jarlaxle actually sounded as if he were teasing him. The mercenary's visible eye twinkled. "I'm not that old myself, and I'm sure from the moment you saw me you noticed my beauty." He posed and gave a little pout.

"Two beautiful young males, one bed ... what could be better?"

Zaknafein gave him an almost lascivious look - maybe one of the most important things he had learnt at the Academy - and pulled back his hood, revealing a long, silvery-white mane. "Either way we should hardly discuss - or do - this on the street. You promised me a drink," he said, his eyes now glistering in amusement.

"So I did," Jarlaxle said, not seeming surprised in the least. He smiled, tapping his lower lip, eyes hooded in thought. "Is the Twirling Blades all right?"

"Anything where I get a free drink is all right," Zaknafein replied with a shrug, and the smirk was now almost constantly on his lips.

Jarlaxle put an arm comfortably around his shoulders and walked down the street, past the Academy, and into the large, well kept tavern known as Twirling Blades.

Inside, it seemed he already had a table ready, for he avoided the goblin servant waiting on new customers and sat down at a secluded booth. It was circular in nature, crafted so finely that it looked like a natural pocket in the wall. The table and seats were of the same stone as the floor and looked like a natural part of it as well. Jarlaxle knew it was only an illusion, a preferred dark elf aesthetic. Small pink and gold lights drifted softly in the alcove.

Zaknafein did his best to appear calm, as if he wasn't impressed at all, as if such fine beauty was nothing special to him. Still, his eyes widened a bit as they entered the tavern, and he felt somehow like a curious child, looking around after they had sat down.

Jarlaxle leant forward on the table and folded his hands under his chin. "How do you like it?" he said softly. "I think it is quite beautiful."

Jarlaxle's voice interrupted Zaknafein's staring and made him look at the mercenary again. "Yes, it is ... nice," he said, trying to sound neutral.

Jarlaxle smirked. "Get used to it. You'll be seeing a lot of it after your graduation. I won't be the only one offering you free drinks. You'll be successful _and_ beautiful - and if you're not careful, very, very dead. I don't make it my mission to talk to children about the dangers of growing up, but it seems that no one else cares to mention to you what things lie ahead for you ... and you are the most important young male in Menzoberranzan - despite what teachers are duty bound to tell you out of loyalty to their own Houses."

Zaknafein's face became immediately serious again, and he seemed to have forgotten the beauty that had fascinated him so much seconds earlier.

"I assure you, I wouldn't have survived the first year at the Academy if I didn't know that pretty much everyone wants to kill me. A skilful commoner isn't likely to make it out of the Academy alive. I _am_ grown up," he replied sharply, and in that moment he looked indeed older and more mature than most drow his age. There were few things Zaknafein hated as much as some rich, haughty drow talking to him as if he was a naive child.

Jarlaxle looked at him with an expression of sadness. "That is what I mean," he said softly. "You will make it out of the Academy alive. So much the worse for you. You need to understand that everything they have told you is a lie. Commoners are no less skilful than nobles. Proper schooling is the only method by which nobles stay on top of the lower classes. 'Commoner' means nothing. If you are to survive, you must throw that word away. It will only hurt you."

He straightened, and took on a more business-like appearance. "But you have no reason to believe me. I am nothing to you. I can offer you a job, a well paying and highly skilled job, the moment you walk out the Academy doors a graduate. If I thought you would settle for less, I would try to convince you to come right now." He steepled his fingers. "Of course, I know you won't blindly accept an offer. You don't know if I am any good."

A lithe half gold elf maiden appeared in the opening of their alcove, carrying a silver serving tray with a menu on it. Jarlaxle smiled at her, but she wasn't even looking at him, and so couldn't see his expression. "Two goblets of your finest wine, and a plate of clams, please."

She departed as silently as she'd come. Jarlaxle turned back to Zaknafein expectantly.

The anger had slowly disappeared from Zaknafein's eyes while he listened, but he still looked suspicious. He was too focused on Jarlaxle's words to look at the elf and just ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"What does your experience tell you about me?" Jarlaxle asked.

The young fighter didn't answer immediately to Jarlaxle's question, he seemed to think about it for a few moments.

"You are definitely insane," he started with the most obvious thing. "And as you say yourself, I have strictly no reason to believe you. I've never heard of you, not as a mercenary and not as someone who could offer me a well paying job of any kind. But most importantly ... if it is so irrelevant that I have no name to help me, why should I want to become a mercenary? If the priestesses really want me enough to keep me for more than just one night, if they'd rather have _me_ as their Weapon Master than their own sons or brothers, why should I give away the opportunity to _earn_ myself a name?"

After all, Zaknafein knew that Jarlaxle was right - he knew that some commoners had managed to become more than simple soldiers.

Jarlaxle stared at him hard. "You say you know what I mean, but you don't. You assume you are an adult, when if you were an adult you wouldn't have such petty desires for names. 'Commoner' doesn't exist. Neither does 'noble'. I had and lost a name, and gained another, and ran away from that one. You don't have to believe me, I won't lie to you and tell you so, but I know the worth of a name."

He swept his hand across the table as if clearing it. "It is nothing!"

"So you say, but I can see every day that it's not true," Zaknafein snapped back. "A name opens countless doors at the Academy. And while nothing can protect us males from the priestesses, there are some males they have to treat at least with a minimum of respect. It's better than nothing! It's better than getting kicked around by every scum who calls himself a noble."

Jarlaxle shook his head. "Still you do not see. Mercenaries are removed from the world of nobles and commoners - removed by one step. A step you must take if you are to see yourself as independent. _Vith_ the Academy! _Vith_ the priestesses and their unkind words."

He clenched his fists, and spat, "'Better than nothing' is the stupid, contented ramble of a brainwashed soldier! You are the most talented young male in Menzoberranzan. I interview the most talented male in Menzoberranzan, and he says, 'I want a name, because it's better than nothing'." Jarlaxle narrowed his eyes to slits. "You can't have 'better than nothing'. You can have everything! Can you not see?"

"Do you really believe that I am going to buy this? We cannot have 'everything'! You can't! If you work for a priestess, do you not have to grovel and please? Do you not have to get on your knees and pleasure her if she demands it? There is no such thing as independence. I worked hard to come to this point, I am not going to throw it away for the empty promises of a madman!" Zaknafein hardly managed to keep his voice down, and to keep from yelling at Jarlaxle his voice dropped to a harsh hiss.

"I'm not mad," Jarlaxle said, first looking hurt, and then sad. "Your senses are deadened by years of abuse and training."

He wrapped his arms around himself, and sighed. "You have never heard of me because no one wants to speak my name. My organisation is headed by me, and peopled by all male mercenaries. Do you see? If you worked for me, it would be for me, and not a priestess. You would not be forced onto your knees. Or any other strange positions. Your body would be your own, and I am not so proud or cruel that I make my mercenaries grovel and please my every whim. You believe there is no such thing as independence because a priestess told you so."

Zaknafein bit on his bottom lip and looked away for a moment. He wanted to believe that it was true, but he knew it wasn't. It sounded too perfect, too easy ... Perfect and easy always meant that it was a lie. He took a deep breath and stared again at Jarlaxle.

"I don't believe you. And why should I? Would you believe you in my place? Believe a stranger rather than every experience you've ever made?" he said, his voice softer. Jarlaxle fascinated him; he was so different, so ... _free_ ... But Zaknafein did not only want independence; he wanted recognition and respect.

"You ask that of the person telling you strange things because you want to believe it," Jarlaxle said with a half smile. "And because you want to believe it, a small part of you already does. I don't have anything to convince you other than obvious logic: would a priestess want you talking to me? would a priestess mention a subversive mercenary? If I have just said '_vith_ the priestesses', why aren't I dead?" His smile broadened. "Or, you might ask yourself, would a priestess want you to believe me? If you have any of the same experiences I have, you know that all the most painful lies you have ever lived flowed from one source: a priestess."

"Just because I want to believe it doesn't make it true," Zaknafein sighed, an odd sentence coming from a drow. "Even_ if _you have this much freedom, why would I believe that I would get it as well? In my experience powerful males are hardly better than priestesses, often even worse. You will need more than a beautiful rhetoric and promises if you want me to do something insane like that."

"How do you think you will fare once you get a name for yourself?" Jarlaxle asked. "What were you planning to do with it? You want to be able to oppress commoners just like nobles do." He smiled sardonically and folded his hands on the table. "That's why it appeals to you, Zaknafein. Not respect. Respect comes from within."

Zaknafein frowned a bit, uncomfortable with the fact that Jarlaxle read him so easily. While he definitely wanted respect, the prospect of having power over others appealed to him just as much ...

"I don't care what you call it, Jarlaxle, but it is the only thing I can realistically expect to obtain," he said. "If your offer is serious, let me think about it. Don't expect me to make a decision based on nothing, because if you do the answer is no."

"I never expected an answer today," Jarlaxle said. "I am going nowhere but up, as I said, so I will have ample opportunities to see you again."

"Fine," Zaknafein said simply and nodded, almost relieved that the mercenary had stopped giving him such pointless hope.

Their order arrived. Their server placed one goblet in front of Zaknafein, one in front of Jarlaxle, and placed an enormous platter of still-steaming, fried clams in the centre of the table.

Again, Jarlaxle tried to smile at the half elf, but she still wasn't looking.

She left without comment.

"These priestesses," Jarlaxle mourned, cupping his chin in his hand. "They are way too hard on new converts. I've seen her for months and she refuses to even speak. Lloth knows what they did to the poor girl."

He flashed Zak an apologetic smile and lifted a handful of clams as if he hadn't said anything. He licked his fingers. "Fried clams." He blushed a little. "A failing. I know they're no good for me." Still, he started eating his handful of clams one by one with obvious relish.

The fighter sipped at his wine, smiling a bit at the fine taste. Jarlaxle's words about the half elf almost made Zaknafein drop the goblet. He had never, ever heard a drow express concern or even pity for a slave. He was so surprised that he couldn't even say anything.

"So," Jarlaxle said, watching him closely. "Are you still agreeable to sharing a room tonight? Perhaps upstairs, in the lavish guest rooms of this very tavern?"

Zaknafein blinked and pulled himself together. He smirked again, slightly surprised that the mercenary didn't seem to mind his refusal, but he was far from renouncing what would probably be the more pleasant part of the evening. "I never said I was, just that I could understand it if you wanted it," he teased, before he added, "But it does sound like a great idea."

"Do clams displease you?" Jarlaxle asked a little anxiously. "I could order a palate cleanser."

"What?" Zaknafein couldn't remember that anyone had ever asked him if something would _displease_ him. After the initial moment of surprise Zaknafein found, however, that he liked it. Although he didn't mind, he suddenly felt the childish urge to test if Jarlaxle's words were only an empty act of courtesy.

"Why, that would be nice," he said, still smirking.

Jarlaxle tried to smile, but his embarrassed blush came back. "All right."

He made a hand motion, and a goblin server came over. "A palate cleanser, please. I prefer h'denza root. Is h'denza root available today, or is it only seasonal?"

The goblin bobbed its head. "Yes, good master. In stock. Coming right up." It scurried away.

Jarlaxle gave Zak an uncertain look. "Is it all right if I finish my clams?"

Zaknafein just stared at Jarlaxle in utter fascination. Embarrassment, uncertainty ... these weren't things he was used to seeing in fellow drow, but he found them strangely attractive. Zaknafein had forced himself so early to suppress them, but he remembered too well what they felt like. To think that Jarlaxle might indeed be different from all the other drow Zaknafein had met so far ...

"Yes, of course," he said finally, as if he suddenly remembered that he hadn't answered yet. "Why wouldn't it be all right?"

Jarlaxle shrugged. "You might be in a hurry. Not for me, of course, since you didn't know this was going to happen, but for other things, precisely because I interrupted you. You might have set up a rendezvous with a friend from class, or might have more training scheduled - or you might want to sleep early. I've never been to the Academy, but I heard students rise early."

He absently took another handful of clams and nibbled on them between thoughts.

"I like to take my time. Unless I'm with a priestess, of course," he said with a joyless grin. "So, no, I'm not in a hurry."

"Splendid." Jarlaxle paused. "How do you like the wine?"

He took his first sip, only now remembering he had ordered it.

"It's amazing," Zaknafein admitted and took another little sip, licking his lips to enjoy the taste a little longer. He didn't even want to know what such a wine would cost, but Jarlaxle didn't seem to worry about money.

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Don't be so cautious. Savouring it is fine, but it would take two days to finish your glass at this rate. I just pulled off a significant job for a duergar merchant who paid me in emeralds." He beamed and waved an index finger. "Don't underestimate the duergar. They may be ugly little things, but they do have a modicum of intelligence. Cooperating with them is very lucrative."

"I see," Zaknafein said, but in fact he had no idea - he had only seen a few duergar slaves in the city; that was all he knew about them. He, too, looked a bit embarrassed by Jarlaxle's comment on the wine, and he quickly brought the glass back to his lips.

"I'll never finish these clams by myself," Jarlaxle lamented. he gave Zaknafein a pleading look. "Do try some."

That look made Zaknafein even smile a bit, and he nodded and started to eat.

"Actually, I _do_ like clams," he said and winked at the mercenary.

Jarlaxle grinned. He winked. "You just don't want to kiss them."

He took a sip of his wine and rolled the goblet in his fingertips, watching the wine swirl in his glass.

"Not really, no. But usually I don't really have any say in that," Zaknafein said. An almost dreamy expression appeared in his eyes when he looked at Jarlaxle's hand ... slender, nimble, soft. A promise Zaknafein could actually believe in.

"I know," Jarlaxle said softly. "I do know. I am not an optimist for no reason. You are still young enough not to have heard about my past, but I don't have the resources to stop all the gossips from telling anyone and everyone they please. You will no doubt look into my background - any smart, intelligent person would - and I will be the first to tell you what you will find. For all of my adult life up until fifty years ago, I was the Patron of a powerful priestess. I am here because I escaped. An escape that you can do, too, and much sooner than I..." He sighed. "But no more of this. It is not something you are listening to."

Zaknafein couldn't hide his surprise at this - he had difficulties imagining someone as independent as Jarlaxle as a priestess' patron, not only an occasional toy, but someone who had to tend to her every whim at every time. Once he had pulled himself together again he just nodded, "It's nothing we should waste our time talking about."

Jarlaxle glanced over at the patter of scurrying feet and saw the serving goblin come up to the table. "Palate cleanser." The goblin bowed and set the plate on the table. He ran away as if expecting a kick in the behind. Jarlaxle opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so after a moment he just shook his head.

Zaknafein cocked his head a bit. "What is it?" he asked in a surprisingly soft voice - as soft as his harsh voice could get, at least.

"Nothing." Jarlaxle absently picked up one of the pale green sticks the root had been chopped into and chewed on the end. It released a bitter juice that made him wince, but the taste quickly went away, leaving only a faint, cool taste.

Zaknafein frowned, but he didn't say anything. Instead he just finished his wine, and after thinking for a moment he too took on of the sticks. It just seemed like the right thing to do. He started to chew on it and grinned a bit.

"It tastes terrible," he stated the obvious.

Jarlaxle grinned. "It's the aftertaste that you should be looking for. The taste will fade in a moment. I like it compared to other cleansers because those go from innocuous to worse. They cleanse, but leave a bad taste in my mouth."

"Ah, if you say so." Somehow Jarlaxle made him feel stupid at some moments, reminding Zaknafein too well that he hardly knew anything but the slums he had grown up in and the Academy. Still, he continued to smirk, looking forward to what awaited them tonight.

The half elf maiden came back to deliver the check for the meal. This time, Jarlaxle didn't try to catch her eye.

He looked down at the check, calculated the sum, and grinned. "Easy enough." He counted out gold coins from his belt pouch. He drew them one at a time, without pause, and made a neat pile of them. "Thank you." He sent her away with the check and the coin on her tray.

Then he turned to Zaknafein and smiled engagingly. "Shall we away? I have paid for the room just now. I have a room reserved here for when I come, so it's always ready." He gave Zak a look as if the young student had said something. "Usually I am without guests."

Zaknafein managed not to stare at the pile of gold coins, but just looked at Jarlaxle. The drow's words made him smile.

"You are? Somehow I don't believe you. You shouldn't have difficulties finding guests." He winked and slowly stood up.

Jarlaxle sighed as he got up and stretched. "It is not my guests who are the picky ones."

"You invited me ... and there are enough handsome males in this city, if that's what you like," Zaknafein stated, a bit confused.

Jarlaxle started walking, across the room and towards a staircase that disappeared behind a corner. Zaknafein took a quick look-around in the tavern, wondering if someone he knew was here, but then he just followed Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle walked up the stairs without a word and went through the third door to the left that they came to.


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Chi convinced me to split the first chapter because it was just too long. I hope it's more readable like this. ;) So, this isn't really a new chapter, it's just the second half of what was the first chapter before.

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**Chapter Two**

The room was lavish. It was not only a room, but a suite. The entrance room was a lounge complete with velvet and silk pillow covered sofas and a low set obsidian table.

Jarlaxle pointed. "To the right is the bath, to the left is the bedchamber."

Zaknafein's eyes widened again. He had seen some of the rooms of the masters and mistresses at the Academy, but either they had not been this lavish or he had been too busy to notice. He softly ran his fingers over one of the sofas, before he suddenly looked up again. He grinned at Jarlaxle and then turned left, going determinedly to the bedchamber. Jarlaxle chuckled and followed him.

The bed chamber was as large as the lounge. Purple and red carpets covered the floor. On one wall was an enormous mirror in a silver frame. The bed was large enough for an entire group of slaves to gather around their master. Airy drapes hung from its posts.

The look of amazement didn't leave Zaknafein's eyes, and for a short moment he gave in to the dream that one day he would have all those things himself. The huge mirror made him grin a bit - he could easily imagine Jarlaxle standing in front of it, admiring himself.

He slowly turned around to face the mercenary, but he didn't touch him. Jarlaxle was older than him and, if Zaknafein took up his offer, Jarlaxle would be his superior one day. Zaknafein had learnt that virtually all drow demanded submissiveness, and whether he liked it or not, Jarlaxle was more powerful than him. He silently took off his piwafwi, followed by his simple chain mail and his weapon belt.

Jarlaxle stood there, watching him in surprise. He cleared his throat after a moment. "Er ... I don't claim to be a master of the proper order of things, but I thought we could wash our hands first. Food and pleasure are linked, but food usually isn't conducive to pleasure. I wasn't planning on using clam grease as a lubricant."

He gestured to a finely wrought bowl on a small dresser and went over to it. He unwrapped a clean towel lying next to it and dropped two dried plant pods into the water that had been resting in the towel. Then he started washing his hands. The pods, once he rubbed them on his hands, began to lather and produce clean, white foam.

Zaknafein nodded and waited for Jarlaxle to finish before he went over to the dresser and washed his hands as well. Drying his hands with another towel he looked back at Jarlaxle, slowly raising a brow.

Jarlaxle took off his hat and hung it up on a coat stand in the corner nearest the mirror. He then unclasped his cape and hung it up as well.

When he turned back to Zaknafein and the young student was still quiet, Jarlaxle realised why he hadn't heard a peep out of the male since they had gotten into the room.

"It's all right. Talk," Jarlaxle said, gesturing vaguely at him. "I don't mind talkers." He bent down and took off his boots, and crossed the room to place a hand on Zaknafein's shoulder.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Zaknafein mirrored Jarlaxle's actions and took of his boots as well, and he didn't flinch in the least when the mercenary touched him. Still, he hardly looked convinced by Jarlaxle's words. He had yet to meet someone who did not hurt him if they were in control. The only way to avoid pain was, in his experience, to deal it out himself.

"I wouldn't know what to say," Zaknafein replied, and his voice was a bit harder and more strained than it had been before.

Jarlaxle wrapped his arms around Zak and stroked his hair, starting at the nape of the neck and coming to the top of his head. He briefly, irrationally, wondered if he would have ever got the chance to stroke his son's hair this way, if he had stayed under the control of the Matron who had used him to bear children. He had to get that thought out of his head before he got upset.

"You can say whatever you want to. I'm not going to tell you what to say."

Zaknafein was a bit surprised at the tender caresses, but as it wasn't unusual for drow to start with tenderness and move on to cruelty later, he still was not reassured. He put his arms around Jarlaxle, not daring to pull him closer. His fingers, strong and calloused, but still nimble, slid over Jarlaxle's back. He wasn't sure what the mercenary expected him to do, and Jarlaxle's confusing words didn't make it easier.

"I don't have anything to say, but if you insist, I will think of something," he replied hesitantly, suspecting that Jarlaxle might just like his voice.

Jarlaxle kissed him on the forehead. "If you must, but I suspect you have enough to say without thinking of things." He leaned back a bit so that he could look at Zaknafein in the eyes and smile.

"I do talk a lot, don't I? If you think it's unfair to impose a sentence of loquaciousness on you, all you have to do is say so."

"Yes, you do ... but I don't mind," Zaknafein said - as long as Jarlaxle talked, he wouldn't have to say anything. "If I have something to say, I will do so." Although he was still confused, he smiled a bit - whatever might happen afterwards, right now Jarlaxle was amazingly considerate.

Jarlaxle gave him a quick little kiss on the lips. "Good." His expression became sombre.

"I only have one rule." He raised an index finger in demonstration. "No taking off my eye patch." As if to prevent alarming him, he quickly smiled. "You can turn it around, or switch it to my other eye, but don't take it off. All right? You promise?"

Zaknafein sighed after that short kiss, a little disappointed that Jarlaxle's lips had left his so quickly again. The mercenary's 'rule' surprised him, especially as he apparently still had both his eyes. While Zaknafein might have asked why in another situation, he instinctively nodded now. "All right," he said, although it confused him that Jarlaxle wanted a confirmation to what Zaknafein still saw as a nicely formulated order.

"Good." Jarlaxle tightened his embrace, pulling them close together until their bodies were pressed against each other, and kissed him. This time, it lasted much longer.

Zaknafein returned the kiss deeply, but he let Jarlaxle dominate it. His hands resumed their caressing movements on the mercenary's back, always attentive for Jarlaxle's reactions.

Jarlaxle did dominate the kiss, but he noticed that Zaknafein wasn't trying to gain control and made sure to slow down and keep it gentle.

"You can take my vest off if you want," he said when their lips parted.

Zaknafein's finger quickly moved to the buttons of the vest, opening them carefully before he slid it off his shoulders. He allowed himself only a short gaze on Jarlaxle's chest before he pulled him closer again and kissed him gently on neck and shoulder.

Jarlaxle's eyelids flickered without his control, and he swallowed convulsively. He was glad that Zak had his arms around him, because he was reduced to blindly groping for Zak's arms through a warm haze of pleasure. His vision only cleared after a minute or two. He cupped the back of Zaknafein's head and smiled down at him.

"What would you like me to do? - It's not a trick," he added hastily, suddenly remembering stories of priestesses who would prey on the young Melee Magthere students. "I mean it. What would you like?"

Zaknafein continued to kiss the soft skin, relieved that Jarlaxle enjoyed it and didn't push him away. When he looked up, he seemed once again confused. Still, he knew that he had to answer, so he just said with an insecure smile, "I like touching you ..." He hesitated, then he added, "I liked how you kissed me."

Jarlaxle snorted. "Well, you can't kiss my neck and have me kiss you the way I was before at the same time." He grinned. "Decide." He impudently tapped the tip of Zaknafein's nose. "Just to prove you can't be a slave all your life, I'm going to teach you how to make decisions for yourself." He smiled serenely. "I'll wait. You take all the time you need to decide."

"I know how to make decisions for myself," Zaknafein grumbled, and as if he needed indeed to prove this he put a hand on Jarlaxle's cheek and kissed him, more passionately than before, but still not claiming any control. He remained tense, though, still waiting for Jarlaxle to slap him and tell him what to do.

Jarlaxle's eyelids fluttered again, and this time, he played an entirely passive role, only reacting to what Zaknafein did. He was breathing a little more heavily than before when the kiss ended.

"Ooh. So you do." Jarlaxle gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "I'll say you're going to need that fire if you're to survive much longer. The priestesses don't like fire, but we both know they can go _vith_ themselves when they get tired of us, now don't we?"

Jarlaxle giggled - it was much more a giddy sound than his previous chuckle. "Do you want to lie down? You've made me lightheaded."

Jarlaxle's words made him smile, but it was a sad smile. Most males didn't survive it if a priestess - at least if she was their Matron - got tired of them. Yet he didn't want to think about that now. He disengaged from Jarlaxle and moved towards the bed, but then he hesitated and gave Jarlaxle a questioning look. "Do you want me to take off my clothes now?" he asked in an almost neutral voice.

Jarlaxle poked him on the nose again. "Do you want to take off your clothes?"

Zaknafein winced and wrinkled his nose a bit, looking annoyed for a moment. Realising that Jarlaxle intended to continue this strange game a bit longer Zaknafein sighed and took off his shirt. He was fairly muscular for a drow, but still perfectly slender. There were quite a few scars on the black skin, from whip lashes as much as from other wounds.

He lay down on the enormous bed, lying on his back and propping himself up on his elbows, and waited for Jarlaxle to join him.

Jarlaxle finally took off his belt. He dropped it on the floor and shucked out of his breeches, discarding them carelessly. Then he smiled childishly and jumped into bed. With a loud 'puff' upon impact, he sank almost six inches into the decadent mattress, arms and legs spread. "I love this bed. I couldn't resist. I can't sleep in it all the time, but alone it's worth the price of the suite to me."

He rolled onto his stomach and crawled up to Zaknafein, nuzzling his abdomen and then using his stomach for a pillow. His antics had shown an enormous collection of striped scars across his backside. In the places they overlapped, it combined into one deep, puckered remnant of an unimaginably lengthy beating.

And Zaknafein seemed much more interested in Jarlaxle's body than in his antics. He ran a hand over Jarlaxle's shoulder and to his back, softly retracing some of the scars. Even with the scars the mercenary was beautiful, Zaknafein thought, knowing that his own body looked probably only better because many priestesses healed their toys to prevent scarring.

After about a minute he softly pulled Jarlaxle into his arms again, pressing him to his chest. He kissed him softly on the lips, but he let Jarlaxle decide if he wanted to continue the kiss or not.

Jarlaxle had too much to say. "Would you believe I forgot about those?" He snorted softly. "Shows how much I care about priestesses' tactics. Confounds the point of shaming me." He kissed Zak briefly, gently sucking on his lower lip, and said, "My wean mother was always on narcotics and steroids." His ensuing giggle made the veracity of that statement doubtful.

Zaknafein grinned joylessly and shrugged. "In most cases their tactics are quite efficient. I always take more beatings than I would have to if I just obeyed them, but in the end we always give in," he sighed, and there was still some hurt pride in his eyes, a feeling that most drow males seemed to forget quite early in their lives.

Jarlaxle stroked his cheek. "Take sanity from holding out. Learn how to make a separate life from the life a priestess wants you to have. Don't give up in the end."

He was beset by the crazy feeling that he had to save this male, even if he had to sacrifice a lot - that saving this one would somehow make up for the fact that his own family had practically sold him into slavery. Zaknafein was so young. He had to be salvageable.

Jarlaxle kissed him deeply and then showered his face with little kisses. He worked his way downward to Zaknafein's neck, licking and sucking tenderly, and reached up with one hand to stroke Zak's ear.

Zaknafein just shook his head, obviously not sharing Jarlaxle's optimism. He was afraid that some day, the priestesses might just break him completely. But his bleak thoughts disappeared immediately when Jarlaxle started to kiss him. A shiver ran through his body, accompanied by a deep moan. He started to caress Jarlaxle's sides and chest, rough fingertips tracing lines on the warm skin.

Jarlaxle worked lower, kissing Zaknafein's chest, nuzzling him and licking. He found Zaknafein's nipple and ran his tongue over it, teasing. His hand found the other one. For a while, he kissed and ran his thumb over those two little nubs, aroused by them and wanting Zaknafein to be aroused.

Zaknafein closed his eyes, and he even forgot that he was, in his own opinion, supposed to pleasure Jarlaxle, not the other way around. He dug the fingers of his right hand into Jarlaxle's shoulder, hoping that the mercenary wouldn't stop touching him ... And yet he remained silent except for a few hardly restrained moans, but he felt his control slip away quickly.

Jarlaxle kept his hands on his nipples, kneading them, but he nudged lower still, licking over hardened stomach muscles. Finally, he had to retract one hand to make his position more comfortable, resting his left hand on Zaknafein's hip. He kissed and nibbled, traced lines around Zaknafein's navel with his tongue, and lightly nipped the younger drow's sides, trying to avoid any real pain.

Zaknafein bit on his bottom lip to keep himself from pleading. If he had been able to think clearly he would have been surprised that Jarlaxle was doing this although he didn't have to. The muscles in his stomach and legs clenched and unclenched, as if he was somehow trying to regain some control over his body ... and failing miserably, of course.

Jarlaxle slid his other hand down, leaving Zaknafein's nipples, and gently curled his fingers around the young student's erection.

"Have you ever been kissed here?" His voice was husky and mellow.

Zaknafein moaned again and thrusted involuntarily in Jarlaxle's hand, desperate for more friction. "Yes, but ... not like this," he whispered, unable to give a clearer answer. He felt as if his brain had stopped functioning, as if his whole body was only focused on the feeling of Jarlaxle's hands and lips on his skin.

Jarlaxle took his time, and then gently lowered his mouth over Zaknafein's erection. He closed his eyes and ran his tongue over its sensitive tip. He didn't know how Zaknafein would react. He kept his hand curled around his erection just in case.

Zaknafein rested one hand on the back of Jarlaxle's head, but he didn't pull him closer ... Even in his current state he didn't want to hurt someone who had been so gentle, so considerate. But his moans and shivering showed without doubt that he enjoyed every second of this, every little touch of Jarlaxle's lips and tongue.

Jarlaxle eventually drew back, sitting up. He licked his lips and swallowed, both attempts to get rid of the taste and the thick feeling of Zaknafein's arousal. He didn't mind it. He just didn't want to try to talk at the same time as having extra tastes and textures in his mouth.

"How about the act of vith? Have you ever been the dominant one in the pairings?" he asked.

He rolled over to the side of the bed quickly and pulled a small vial free of one of his belt pockets. It was a golden oil obtained from a certain species of harmless mushroom.

For a few moments Zaknafein didn't react at all, and then he just blinked in surprise. Jarlaxle_ had _to be mocking him now ... he couldn't possibly suggest that ...? Zaknafein answered in a rough voice, "Yes, but I doubt that anyone but me ever enjoyed that experience." He didn't know what to do if Jarlaxle asked this from him. Zaknafein had never minded hurting some of his fellow students, but he didn't want to hurt Jarlaxle.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Jarlaxle said softly. "If you want to, I can show you - I am not trying to scare you, so please don't be frightened. I can show you how to avoid hurting me by demonstration, or I could explain while you go through it."

He ran his hand up and down Zaknafein's erection, trying to be reassuring.

Zaknafein hesitated ... he couldn't say that he wasn't tempted, but he doubted that he would be patient enough to do it slowly now. Not to mention that he still did not trust Jarlaxle's intentions. Jarlaxle's hand was driving him crazy, and the mercenary expected him to make halfway sensible decisions.

"Show me," Zaknafein whispered, his voice almost pleading.

Jarlaxle drew close and kissed him on the ear. "Okay. Everything will be all right. You know how to lie on your stomach in such a way to let someone do this, don't you? I need you to do that now. I need you to trust me enough not to struggle - that's a part of why it hurts so much. People move too quickly."

Zaknafein nodded and turned around, his movements a bit awkward. He was too aroused to think clearly, and at the same time his body was tensing up against his will. He had gone through this so many times that he had almost grown used to the pain, but he had never _expected_ anything else than pain. But now he feared that Jarlaxle might be playing with him, or that the mercenary was simply wrong and that he would hurt him just as much, despite his soft words.

Jarlaxle laid hands on his back and started rubbing in circles, fingertips sensitive to the scars and the muscles underneath. "You remember times when it was done poorly. I know. Try to keep it out of your mind. Use that meditation you learnt in school. I'll keep you safe to the best of my ability, but I can't have you moving around. I might hurt you that way."

Zaknafein forced himself to stop moving, but he didn't manage to relax completely. "Don't keep me waiting ... too long," he whispered in a pleading tone. As much as he appreciated Jarlaxle's consideration, he was still growing so impatient.

Jarlaxle uncorked the vial and splashed some of the oil onto his hand. A few spatters hit the bedding, but it was always that way. The oil was too thin to pour well. He coated his own erection, and then slowly reached out and rubbed oil on Zaknafein's entrance. He cringed at this, because it seemed to him more of an intrusion than the act of vith, somehow.

"I'm going to do it _slowly_." He swallowed hard, studied what he was doing carefully, and finally took his erection in hand, guiding it. At a certain point, he closed his eyes, knowing that looking at what he was doing wouldn't be a help much longer. He let out a gasp. "I've found it." As painstakingly as possible, he slid forward and in.

Zaknafein closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, knowing that this was Jarlaxle, not one of his masters at the Academy. He winced nonetheless and bit in his own forearm to keep from whimpering. Jarlaxle didn't need to know that he was in pain; the pain would go away sooner or later.

But Jarlaxle had no intention of moving so quickly. "Don't bite yourself ... It's okay. It hurts a little bit at first because I can't control what happens all the way." He rubbed Zaknafein's back with one hand and kept the other on Zaknafein's hip to steady himself. "Don't fret. I'll wait. Just think nice thoughts. You can tell me when the pain stops. I won't do anything but what you tell me."

Zaknafein just sighed and tried to adjust, and he was grateful for Jarlaxle's caresses. It didn't take long until he whispered, "It's all right ... just continue, please."

Jarlaxle patted him on the back gently to show he understood. He immediately had to grit his teeth and hold on to his self control when he started moving. He sucked in his breath through his teeth, hissing. Just that little movement almost made him climax. Sweat beaded on his face and his back. He trembled, and then relaxed, successfully fending it off. He let out a huge breath. "All right. You tell me what to do."

"It's fine," Zaknafein said, his voice trembling. He didn't want to think and to talk anymore, he just wanted to feel this. "_You_ wanted to show me."

Jarlaxle leant over with difficulty and kissed his neck. "All right."

He closed his eyes and did it the slowest, gentlest way he knew how. Strength sapped out of him, and his failing thoughts were that if Zaknafein wanted to shut him up forever, the drow he was trying to save could kill him. He had to ward off climaxing several more times, trying to lengthen their vith because he knew that the farther along it went, the better it felt for the person on the bottom.

He wanted Zaknafein to know what it felt like to have good things done to him. So he kept on, even when he was panting, unable to get his breath back.

And Zaknafein was enjoying it, now that the pleasure was outweighing the pain. As aroused and impatient as he had already been he climaxed rather soon, a deep, satisfied moan on his lips. He went limp under Jarlaxle, still enjoying the other drow's closeness.

Jarlaxle bit his lips and tried to keep from making any noise. He couldn't hold on much longer than Zaknafein. Afraid to climax inside of him, he pulled out and directed his orgasm away from the young student. Most of it hit a pillow. He tossed it on the floor with the rest of his strength and collapsed on top of Zaknafein, his energy gone.

"I tried ... not to hit you. It's not pleasant to have something ... sticky ..." Jarlaxle's voice was wavering badly from exhaustion and just trailed off altogether.

He wished he could move. He couldn't help but think Zaknafein didn't appreciate being collapsed on top of. Especially a stranger.

However, Zaknafein himself was much too exhausted to complain, and he even liked it that Jarlaxle stayed so close. It was definitely better than getting slapped or insulted afterwards.

"You wouldn't have needed to draw back," Zaknafein mumbled, his words half stifled by the pillow he rested his head on.

Jarlaxle didn't have a response to that, because even though his eyes were open, it didn't mean a thing. He'd slipped into a reverie.

Zaknafein just enjoyed Jarlaxle's closeness for a while, but he stayed awake. But then he tried to get the mercenary off him as carefully as possible, as he didn't want to wake him up. He had been taught to leave if he wasn't needed anymore, so he slowly got out of bed and started to dress.

"I was only out for a moment." Jarlaxle sat up, dazed. He'd woken up as suddenly and delicately as he'd fallen into reverie. Zaknafein tensed up and gave Jarlaxle a wary look, as if he expected the older drow to be angry.

Jarlaxle felt a confused sense of danger. He'd fallen asleep, and yet this student, being trained to kill at the slightest weakness, had only started getting out of bed.

"You don't want to go back to your barracks like that," Jarlaxle said. "It tells too much. Why don't you share a bath with me?"

The suggestion made Zaknafein grin, but his eyes seemed rather bitter.

"It wouldn't tell more than in any other night," he said harshly, but to his own surprise he felt almost bad for his words. He didn't want Jarlaxle to think that this hadn't been different for him from other nights, because it _had _been special. "But I would like to stay ... if that's what you want."

Jarlaxle rubbed his head, regaining his wits. He looked at Zaknafein shrewdly. "It bothers you, the way they treat you. You feel as though you've been sent to be a toy for the masters, not to learn anything. So you don't want to get any feeling that I will treat you better. You don't want to believe anything is different between you and me than it is between you and an impersonal, cruel teacher, because then you would have to accept that you and they do something wrong. You don't want to do that, because it would make you feel guilty. Guilt makes you angry, and that makes you reckless, which in turn earns you more unwanted attention."

He scooted to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over, resting his chin in his hands calmly, arms propped up on his elbows, against his legs.

"I couldn't get any _more _unwanted attention," Zaknafein snorted. "I have no reason to feel guilty. I do what I need to do, that is all. Being a toy is better than being dead. And I do not want to believe that you are any better than my masters because I can't trust you. You're not the first one who starts being nice just because he enjoys to surprise with his cruelty afterwards."

Zaknafein didn't really believe his last words - Jarlaxle wouldn't do that to him, although the young fighter didn't know why he was so sure about that. But he knew that Jarlaxle wasn't just nice for selfless reasons; he was simply manipulating him one way or another.

"I'm not one of those people at all," Jarlaxle objected. "Cruelty is pointless. I don't want you to hate me."

"Cruelty is entertaining, arousing, useful. I don't know any drow, not one, who doesn't see it that way," Zaknafein replied now almost angrily. "Why should you be so different from everyone else?"

Jarlaxle crossed his arms over his chest uneasily. "You." He looked away, angry and knowing he didn't have any mask to keep if from his face. "You know you don't. You know yourself, don't you? You know that you don't find cruelty useful, or entertaining, or arousing. You know it's not arousing, and it's not being the victim that makes it that way! It's not weakness to see cruelty as something punishable, something unnecessary and unsavoury to the taste. It's wrong, and you know it. Don't try to tell me you don't. You were just in bed with me."

"And because I was in bed with you I have to share you insane opinions?" Zaknafein replied, but he sounded much less convinced now.

_It's wrong. _He didn't know if he had ever heard these words spoken so honestly, and they reminded him of something he had known for so long and always tried to forget. There was something wrong with the world he lived in, something he shouldn't just accept for his personal gain. And yet, he knew that he was already turning into what this world wanted him to be.

"Cruelty is often the only way to get rid of your anger before it consumes you. And as painful it is to be on the receiving end, you can't tell me that being cruel is not arousing. It is. I know it is," he said, but his voice was strangely soft despite his words.

Jarlaxle laughed, but it was painful and bitter. His eyes glittered so strongly it looked as if he might have tears in them.

"It's not the cruelty that gets people off, Zaknafein. It's the power. Do you see it? You want to be the one in power, because having power makes your old wounds seem to heal. It's a lie. Power is a balm that wears off the moment someone does something to you that you didn't foresee. Making you realise that you were fooling yourself into thinking, 'I am better now. I have control. I have everyone's support. Now that I am stronger, everyone wants to be my friend.' No one is ever going to be so afraid of you that they don't lash out. You always want to lash out at everyone around you _because_ you're afraid. Fear _makes_ hostility. You want to be cruel to people because it will make you think that the things that made your scars will never happen again."

Jarlaxle looked directly at him, his eyes cold despite their tears. "You think that cruelty hurts. You think that you'd want to hurt anyone who ever hurt you if you ever got the power to do so - because it's wrong and you can't think of a worse punishment than to make someone feel the way you felt when they were being cruel. You see it as the ultimate punishment - nothing worse can possibly happen than to be treated cruelly."

He stood up.

"I think you don't think my opinions are insane. You try not to listen to what they are, because thinking about them frightens you. Sometimes you have to avoid being frightened of things that hurt you, Zaknafein. It's the only way to stop being who people want you to be."

Jarlaxle started looking around for his things. He picked up his hat, dusted it off with a few affectionate pats, and placed it on his head. Then he slipped on his vest. He looked piercingly at Zaknafein.

"I think, for instance, that someone biting my tongue hurts. I think that someone tying my hands above my head and ripping the clothes from my body makes me afraid and violated. I think that someone putting their hand around my penis and squeezing as hard as they can is closer to torture, not foreplay."

He pointed directly at the student. "I know you don't like being jerked around by an invisible collar, because no one likes that. I think these things are wrong, because no one hurts another person in the bedroom if they like that person. No one. And you agree with me."

Zaknafein calmly listened to Jarlaxle's words, and the fact that he didn't interrupt him was already a sign that he thought at least about them. And still, he didn't look even remotely convinced, but only ... sad.

"Maybe. But people don't _like_ each other. I'm not stupid, Jarlaxle, I don't think that I can ever gain control over my life, like you seem to think. I don't think that my masters won't rape me just because I can rape a first-year-student. But I know that having power, being in control sometimes is the only thing that keeps me going whenever I am _not_ in control. I need those moments. I can't afford doing what seems 'right' to me. Being what people want me to be is the only alternative to being a corpse. That's maybe not how things should be, but it is how they are."

He sighed and went over to Jarlaxle, and after a short moment of hesitation he ran his fingers over the mercenary's cheek. "You can't make things go away just because they are wrong."

Jarlaxle threw his arms around the young student and held him as close as he could. "I'm not trying to make the old things go away, I'm trying to make something new. If you can't make something new, no matter what you do, you're bowing to the decisions people made before you. Raping and hurting people is what your masters want you to do. Don't you see that? Being what people want you to be is being a corpse."

He held Zaknafein at arm's length suddenly, examining him, and brushed a lock of hair out of the student's eyes.

"In your case it is. What you want to be and who they want you to be aren't even remotely the same thing. I am not exaggerating, and don't think you will think I am, by saying that if you can't stand up for who you really are, you may as well commit suicide now before the graduation ceremony. From all that I've heard, they plan to break you, and if you can't keep your identity separate, they will."

Zaknafein didn't move, but it felt strangely comforting to be so close to Jarlaxle. To know that, for some reason, this strange mercenary wasn't going to hurt him.

"I don't know what I want to be, or who I am. But even if you won't like to hear it - I enjoy hurting people. I don't just do it because I have to, but I like it. I'm not better than they are. And they can't possibly do more to me than what they have already done," he said and chuckled joylessly.

"You're right," Jarlaxle said. "I don't like to hear it. But it's the drow instinct," he added cautiously. "I am subject to the same urges you are. It is not just the cruel people. We are a warring people. Our blood has things in it that urge us to do wrong. But you can't give in to them, Zaknafein. They will only get louder and more restless if you stir them up, these things in your blood. They like the taste of other's pain, but they are always greedy. They are not satisfied when you rape another student, or hurt a slave. You would drown in the blood of hundreds of other drow and not feel satisfied."

Jarlaxle shook his head. "As a race of people, I feel we are doomed to be hopelessly insane. It is not our fault, but it is our responsibility to keep ourselves in check." He looked at Zaknafein firmly.

"I didn't hurt you, did I? I could control myself. I can prove it can be done. You can stop hurting people if you choose to."

He shook his head. "But enough of that. The graduation ceremony. They guard it so closely I know not what they plan to do." His face became solemn, and drained of a little heat. "I know that they plan to break your sanity. Your classmates' sanity. Your will to live. They are going to summon you together and perform some sort of holy ceremony there."

Jarlaxle swallowed convulsively. "They plan to ... to make you like the things you don't yet. To make you pliable."

"Yes, you held yourself back. You didn't hurt me because for some unfathomable reason you trusted me to some extent. But I can't trust others. I can't show them any weakness by being kind and tender. Nor do I want to abstain from the few pleasures I have. They allow me to keep my sanity."

He sighed and looked away, as if he couldn't bear Jarlaxle's gaze. He too had heard enough rumours about the graduation ceremony, and he couldn't deny that they scared him. And still ... it was necessary. Without graduating he would be nothing.

"I will survive. I always do," he said firmly.

Jarlaxle smiled and snorted. "'Always' is such a delightfully short time for someone who hasn't seen their first century of life." He patted Zaknafein on the cheek. "Keep up that optimism and come back to me after you've graduated. If your brains haven't been scrambled and dragged out your nose with a meat hook."

He walked away, slipped on his breeches, and went over to the coat rack for his cape.

Zaknafein snorted angrily at that condescending gesture, but he didn't really look annoyed. Instead he just finished to dress as well, without saying another word. Jarlaxle was the optimist here, not Zaknafein. And he certainly wasn't going to worry for the next months about the mercenary's unsettling words - or at least he'd try to.

"Keep in mind, young one, that because you acquire a name won't save you from people saying you acquired it unfairly." Jarlaxle slipped on his boots and settled his cape about his shoulders. "The people that value you now will be the only people who care if you get a name or not. Everyone else will hate you exactly the same." He gave Zaknafein and bitter smile and walked out.

Zaknafein just scowled, but again, he didn't answer. He knew that Jarlaxle's words were true, he had always known it, but it still hurt him to hear them so clearly. He stayed for a few minutes alone in the room, staring at the door the mercenary had walked through, before he finally pulled himself together and left as well.

Jarlaxle was one step ahead of him, almost out the door of the suite. He stopped, brusquely, at the sound of Zaknafein's following steps, and said, "I enjoyed this, whether you believe me or not."

Instead of walking down the hall, he dropped a small, brightly coloured ball from his belt and vanished in a billow of orange smoke.

Zaknafein blinked in confusion - he had thought that Jarlaxle had already left. He was too surprised to answer before the mercenary disappeared so suddenly. And although he wanted to dismiss Jarlaxle's words as either stupid sentimentality or clever manipulation, they made him smile for a second. He quickly suppressed the smile before he finally left the suite.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

One day, Zaknafein was leaving the Academy, and there was Jarlaxle again, perched on the low retaining wall around a water fountain, colourful clothes merrily twinkling. The drow mercenary caught sight of him immediately, flashed him a broad wink, and called, "Rape any first years lately?" He burst into laughter, and threw open his arms in greeting.

Zaknafein looked particularly gloomy that evening, and he seemed quite tired as well. It was already late, but he hadn't managed to leave immediately after his training ... Jarlaxle's sight surprised him, and he didn't know if he should scowl or smile. The mercenary's words made him grin in amusement while he walked over to him.

"No, I switched to the second years recently," he replied, his face inexpressive, but his eyes twinkled a bit.

"The first years must miss you!" Jarlaxle said, hopping up from his perch and flipping his cape over his shoulder. "How unkind of you to suddenly direct your attentions elsewhere. They're wondering if they displeased you." Jarlaxle walked around him, surveying him the way he had that first day a month ago, and stopped in front of him.

"You look tired," he said, raising an index finger.

"Yes, I am sure they cry themselves to sleep at night now, missing my perfect beauty. They didn't see much of it anyway when they were on their knees," Zaknafein retorted sarcastically. He sighed when Jarlaxle circled him again.

"Of course I look tired. I told you I knew that being in control with other students doesn't protect me from my masters."

There was a small bruise on Zaknafein's throat, just beside a few scratches that were still bleeding. Zaknafein had obviously just got away from his teacher.

Jarlaxle's smile disappeared behind a mingled expression of disgust, anger, and concern.

"I had to hope you did that to yourself while scratching a bug bite. Why they..." He cut himself off and put a arm around Zaknafein. "I was going to show you someplace new, but you're looking so worn out I'd rather just take you to dinner at the Blades. All right with you?"

"In a perfect world there would be only bugs and no drow," Zaknafein snorted, but he grinned as well. Somehow Jarlaxle's concern made him feel better immediately, especially after the painful last hours. "I don't mind someplace new if it's not far away ... Whatever you prefer."

"Twirling Blades has more reliable privacy," Jarlaxle said. He patted Zaknafein's arm. "Privacy seems to be what you need right now anyway." He grinned. "And they serve a wonderful rothe steak."

"Privacy," Zaknafein repeated the word as if he still couldn't grasp its sense. He just nodded and leant against Jarlaxle for a second before he straightened up again, waiting for the mercenary to lead the way.

Jarlaxle smilingly walked with him down the street, and through the doors of the tavern. This time he had to stop and wait and explain what he wanted to a goblin slave in charge of seating people. He was very patient, and didn't press the flustered goblin, who had been arguing with a group of five when Jarlaxle and Zaknafein had arrived. After a five minute conversation, the goblin seated them in a far corner of the room. Jarlaxle smiled, caught his wrist to keep him from scurrying away, and slipped him a silver. The mercenary sighed in relief when they sat down in the circular alcove booth.

Jarlaxle's behaviour surprised Zaknafein once again, but in a way he liked it - although he was as convinced that goblins were scum as almost every other drow. He followed Jarlaxle silently, and although he tried to hide it he winced a bit when he sat down. He grinned at Jarlaxle again only a second later, as if he needed to hide his obvious weakness.

Jarlaxle gave him a look that cut through his smile as if he ought to have known better. "It's like that, then, isn't it?" The mercenary's eyes searched his face. "You didn't get caught for a few minutes while you were running out the door, did you?"

He slid his hand across the table, reaching out for Zaknafein's hand as if he wasn't sure if Zaknafein would let him touch it.

Zaknafein didn't reply immediately. He stared at Jarlaxle's hand on the table without touching it before he looked him in the eyes again.

"I didn't even make it out the door," he said almost calmly. "He just ... likes to leave marks. To make sure I won't forget him." He chuckled at his own words, although he couldn't find anything funny about them.

Jarlaxle was surprised at the amount of outrage he felt over that. He almost rose from his seat, and had to make sure he was still sitting down. He wanted to rip the bastard apart, and he didn't even know which master it was who had done this to Zaknafein. He felt as if he'd been personally insulted, as if the master at the Academy had done it in front of him and made him watch. His hands clenched and unclenched.

In that rush of outrage was the powerful feeling that Zaknafein was already his. Not because he felt like Zaknafein was an object. That wasn't it at all. Not remotely. His business. He felt terrible thinking this in such juxtaposition with Zaknafein's state, but maybe it was as if Zaknafein was his lover. He'd had a lot of one night pleasures with males, but never a lover.

It had been a single night with Zaknafein, he reminded himself, but he knew it wasn't the same. He felt sick. It had been more than that. He had thrown his entire spirit into trying to save Zaknafein. Now he was suffering in a way he never had before over someone else. He felt nauseous, and hot and cold all over. He couldn't even articulate a civil remark about what he was feeling.

Zaknafein softly laid his hand on Jarlaxle's, squeezing it a bit. It touched him to see all those emotions pass through Jarlaxle's eye - he felt almost as if the older drow _cared_ about him.

"You shouldn't be more upset about this than I am." He tried to sound reassuring, but he didn't manage to sound indifferent - it was true that this had been the worst of his masters, and the bruise on his throat was not the only one on his body, far from it. Zaknafein tried to convince himself of the contrary, but he _was_ upset, he was still feeling humiliated although he should be used to it by now.

"So that he still forgets you," Jarlaxle muttered, his voice trembling. he stared down at the table, and at their hands. He knew that he hadn't repeated what Zaknafein said. He had tried to, but he had somehow got it twisted all around. Like his stomach felt all twisted around. He hadn't felt less hungry in years. He looked up at Zaknafein suddenly, his visible eye burning.

"You're not there to be his toy."

Why did he have to be some insignificant mercenary? Why did he have to be so powerless? Why couldn't he be somebody important, somebody who could find this brutaliser and kill him? An old agony flared in his heart, like an uneasy scar put to rest in the darkness making a grumpy appearance.

Zaknafein chuckled again while his hand continued to squeeze Jarlaxle's.

"No? The purpose of the Academy is not only to teach us how to fight. I _am_ there to be his toy. I am as much his toy as I am his student. I don't know how this can shock you so much."

Of course, it was wrong - a word that hadn't left his thoughts since his last conversation with Jarlaxle - but it was normal. It was nothing extraordinary, and yet Jarlaxle seemed almost surprised.

"It doesn't shock me," Jarlaxle snapped. "It angers me. I don't know why, but it does."

He closed his eyes, trying to get a hold on himself, his emotions reined back in where they belonged. He felt better having snapped, but he was uneasy at speaking harshly to a young student who had just been raped for who knows how long.

"Hearing you say that angers me. Hearing the philosophies of the old and weak from the mouths of youths whose hearts aren't dead yet troubles me. I don't like someone with the heart of a rotted lich laying a hand on my friend."

There. He'd said it. He was managing to hold back tears of emotion from running down his cheeks, but barely. But he'd said it. Even if it damned him to the Abyss.

Zaknafein immediately drew back his hand when Jarlaxle snapped at him like that, and he even looked away. But his gaze returned to Jarlaxle at that last word - friend. Zaknafein's eyes widened, and he didn't know what to make of it. The word didn't have a clear meaning for him, but he knew that it meant something when Jarlaxle said it. Unsure how he should react, he hid once again behind cynicism and outward indifference.

"He didn't only lay a hand on me."

Jarlaxle steadied his breathing with all of his control. "I know that. I know what he did. As much as I can know from what I can see right now." He had to collect his thoughts. "You didn't come to the Academy to be anyone's toy. You came to learn the art of fighting. No one can undo your intentions except yourself. You shouldn't ... you shouldn't let him make you say that you are there for his amusement. Because it weakens you that way. You have to keep it separate ... from his goals. No one should change your goals. You have yours, and he has his. Just because he accomplishes his does not mean it's now your goal. Keep it separate in your head."

He was breathing deeply, in, out, in, out. _No one should do that to you!_ he screamed silently. He wanted to say it, but at the same time he didn't. He felt ... it might hurt Zaknafein instead. He meant to help.

"His goals are not mine, I know that. But if he does not get what he wants, I will not get what I want either. If I keep getting angry every time it makes everything only worse," Zaknafein explained. It wasn't as if he had never tried to revolt against his teachers. But after a while he had just given up, mainly because the wounds from additional beatings weakened him and made him vulnerable.

Jarlaxle sighed, trying to figure out how to make Zaknafein understand. "You don't resist out here," he moved his hands to indicate the air around them, "you resist in here." He touched his head. "Of course if you walk up to a teacher, call him a spider sucking ass, and hit him in the face he'll beat you. You have to think thwarting him."

Jarlaxle rubbed his chin, looking into Zaknafein's eyes thoughtfully.

"I don't mean that you think about doing him injury, or insulting him - that only leads to anger, and you have a control problem. I mean, to take a mental journey that is somewhere else. Somewhere productive. Invent new battle strategies. Go to sleep. Think yourself into a place you like - a garden or a tavern. Be introspective, and make decisions about your own identity. Don't let him dictate what you think about. You are the only one who should have that. I know you are frustrated and hopeless because he's claimed your body. But you're letting it claim your mind. Don't."

"He wouldn't let me think of something else. He would make me talk, make me beg, make sure I listen to his insults," Zaknafein sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't just try to ignore what he is doing to me. If I start doing that, it means that I don't care anymore, that I don't mind what he is doing because I can just think of something else."

"I'm not hungry." Jarlaxle said suddenly. He felt, in fact, as though he was being tortured. "Are you hungry?"

Zaknafein seemed to hesitate for a moment - he hadn't eaten since the morning, but he didn't feel like eating either. "Not really."

"I'll send something up later if we get hungry," Jarlaxle said. He stood up. "Or we can come back down. I can have them reserve our booth."

Zaknafein nodded and smiled quickly at Jarlaxle, but it was a strained smile. He winced again when he stood up, but at least his face remained neutral. Jarlaxle led him upstairs, to his reserved suite. He gestured at the sofas in the lounge.

"They're very soft," he said quietly. "Would you like to sit down on one of them?"

Zaknafein followed him, actually quite happy to be alone with Jarlaxle now. He nodded again instead of answering, but before he sat down he took off his weapon belt and his chain mail, every movement slightly awkward.

Jarlaxle sighed and knelt in front of him, reaching out with both hands and lifting up his shirt.

"Let's see what we have here."

Zaknafein flinched at first, but he suppressed his instinctive reaction of pushing Jarlaxle away. Still, he didn't want the mercenary to see those wounds, the countless scratches and bruises on his whole body, and the bloody welts on his back from the master's whip.

Jarlaxle dropped the hem of his shirt suddenly. He stood up. "You need a healing potion."

"What?" Zaknafein gave him a disbelieving look. It was surprising enough that Jarlaxle even cared about those wounds, but that he wanted to offer him a healing potion was just absurd.

"You are covered in wounds," Jarlaxle said. "I can't even touch you without hurting you. Don't be absurd, and don't argue with me, just do as you're told. This once. I won't ask you to do anything else this way. Just drink a healing potion." He unbuttoned the flap on a belt pocket and took out a small bottle filled with pink liquid. He held it out to him.

Surprisingly enough Zaknafein didn't object, but just took the bottle and drank the liquid. Even if Jarlaxle had only given him the potion to be able to touch him - something that would hardly surprise the ever suspicious fighter - it was still better than keeping those wounds. He sighed in relief when the potion started to work.

Jarlaxle sat down beside him, pretty much just flopping down, and wrapped his arms around the young fighter. He nestled in close and nuzzled Zaknafein's hair, breathing deeply and inhaling the fighter's scent, trying to calm himself. He was almost crying again.

"You must be wondering why I did that," he said. "I've never spent good money on a healing potion to give it someone else. But you ... you said that you wanted to be able to hurt, so that you knew you still cared. Sitting with those injuries is a sure way to numb yourself. I don't want you to dull your senses if that's not what you want." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I want you to feel better."

He ran his hands down Zaknafein's arms. "If you can't make him let you go by ignoring him, because he'll keep you there with his insults, then I'll have to provide you another way. Myself. If you can't escape his debilitating words and his treatment, then I'll give you rehabilitating words and treatment." He squeezed him. "I'll fight for you that way. I'm not letting this go without a fight."

At first Zaknafein tensed up when Jarlaxle touched him. He knew it wasn't reasonable, but instinctively he expected the mercenary to force him into more. He only relaxed when Jarlaxle started talking.

"I don't understand," Zaknafein said quietly after a while. He looked at Jarlaxle, and in that moment he seemed incredibly young. "I can understand why he treats me like that, but I don't understand why you help me ... I'm not that useful, I'm not worth so much trouble."

Jarlaxle stroked his cheek. "You're young, and you don't deserve to die. I know a lot of students that I wouldn't care about one way or the other. They're stupid, pedestrian little monsters that don't bear out the supposedly good genes that spawned them. They're abominations that deserve to be used as fodder in the next House war. You're different. You have the potential for vision, you have keen wits and strong hands and a natural talent for fighting. Most of all, you're not set in your ways, or a religious fanatic."

Jarlaxle withdrew his hand and leant back. "There should have been people to help me. I'm brilliant, and a good dresser. I was alone. I want to help you for the sake of helping someone who needs help. You're worthy of help, and you should get it. Call it a merit based scholarship, like the decision that paved the way for your attendance at the academy." He winked. Zaknafein chuckled a bit and took off Jarlaxle's hat to put it aside.

"You're maybe brilliant, but your clothes are awful," he commented, but his right hand moved to Jarlaxle's bare abdomen, tender fingertips running over the smooth skin. "Although I like your vest." Zaknafein drew his hand back quickly - he wasn't sure if Jarlaxle even wanted him to touch him right now.

Jarlaxle bit his lip to keep from giggling. "That tickles." He looked surprised when Zaknafein snatched his hand back. He blinked rapidly, and looked from his stomach to Zaknafein's hand and back. Then he looked at Zaknafein's face.

"What is the matter?"

Zaknafein mumbled a quick apology, not looking at Jarlaxle anymore. The mercenary was confusing him - while Zaknafein was more comfortable with him than with anyone else, the obedience that had been beaten into him at the Academy kept him from just being natural. He couldn't simply ignore the fact that Jarlaxle was older and more powerful.

Jarlaxle softened and hugged him. He kissed Zaknafein on the cheek. "I don't mind if you're confused." He stroked the student's hair. "Don't worry about it. Please. You are going to be as powerful as me one day. One day soon. Then I won't be able to order you around even if I feel like it." He grinned. "You'll just have to pretend until that day that we're even in power. I'll wait. It will come to you easily one day." He put on a meek, pitiful expression. "Just don't take it into your head to whip me when I make a bad joke."

"I like your jokes," Zaknafein sighed while he snuggled against Jarlaxle. "And I don't like whipping people ... Whips are wonderful weapons; they shouldn't be reduced to something as stupid as beatings." He ignored the mercenary's first words, knowing very well that he wouldn't be able to forget their respective stations. But he could pretend, at least for a while.

Jarlaxle grinned. "See? A man of intelligence. Only the best and finest like my jokes. They're high brow." He raised his eyebrows as far as they would go in a visual pun.

"No, they're just insane," Zaknafein said with a broad grin. He put his head on Jarlaxle's shoulder, and his right hand timidly returned to the mercenary's abdomen.

"So, you're insane too," Jarlaxle teased.

"Either I am insane, or I will be insane some day," Zaknafein said and shrugged.

"Hereditary?" Jarlaxle asked. "Or hunch?"

He was starting to get that pleasant, cosy feeling. The kissing feeling. He put it off because he didn't want to ruin the conversation.

Zaknafein frowned suddenly and drew his hand back. "Hunch, I suppose. My mother wasn't any more insane than other females, so unless my father was a lunatic -" His voice trailed off and he looked away. He had never known who his father was, and somehow he was ashamed of that. He would have given much too know if his father had been like him.

Jarlaxle gave him a little half-smile. "I don't know who my father was, either." He patted the youth on the shoulder. "It isn't one of those things mothers - or Matrons - tend to share. Especially if their children turn out like us. Intelligent. Matrons don't want their sons to turn out intelligent - more intelligent than necessary. They want their Patrons to save that for their daughters. It's an insult to produce a son more clever than a daughter." He snorted. "As if fathers say to themselves, 'this sperm will be a boy, and I'll give him an extra helping of strength, wits, and charm. Mwahahahaha!' and then laugh themselves all the way to their chambers after _vith_ is done."

Zaknafein couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I'm definitely going to do that one day," he said, but then his smile faded and he sighed again. "I don't even think my mother had a patron. I suppose she didn't even know herself which soldier sired me ... I'm just curious, that's all."

"Because it would say something about yourself," Jarlaxle suggested, smiling kindly. "It might unlock some answers for you, so you knew where to go and what life might hold for you."

"I would probably be disappointed because my father ended up just like I am going to end up. A female's disposable whore," Zaknafein snorted.

Jarlaxle flinched. "And that is - I don't want - No one said it has to be that way."

Zaknafein didn't even bother to answer that, but just buried his face against Jarlaxle's shoulder. It felt so nice ... so unbelievably safe. Jarlaxle couldn't protect him from anything, but he made him feel better.

Jarlaxle gently put his arms around Zaknafein and stroked his back.

"Is it starting to be better...? The pain? What did he do to you this afternoon, and why? Does he have a reason that sets him off, or is he just..." Jarlaxle couldn't finish that sentence. He didn't know how he would. _Is he just a Lloth worshipping bastard? Is he just doing this because he can? Is he insane? Is he attracted to you at all?_

Zaknafein went limp in Jarlaxle's arms, but his voice sounded strained when he answered. "He doesn't need a particular reason. He enjoys watching me during the training ... and he enjoys 'putting me back in my place' when I get too 'arrogant'. He says I'm so pretty that I'm asking for it. And he loves to make me beg and plead."

"He should stay away from you." There was a growl in Jarlaxle's voice he barely recognised in himself. His disgust pulsed through him in big, overpowering waves. He didn't know what to do. He felt like strangling the master to death. "He should stay away from you and wish to have all his fingers broken for saying that about you. No one deserves to be stalked and overpowered like that."

He was remembering all too clearly the first priestess who ever laid her hands on him. She'd done and said so much of the same things.

"I suppose he's possessive, too."

"He is possessive, but he knows that he can't keep the other masters away from me. He just tries to get me more often ... his 'favourite toy'," Zaknafein said in a surprisingly calm voice. He softly stroked Jarlaxle's abdomen as if to calm the mercenary. "That's why he wants to leave marks, so others see that he has had me."

"I wish you didn't have to return." Jarlaxle grimaced. "I wish you could give up this silly idea to get respect and power through channels which you have no control over. I wish you could stop now, and come with me, and work your way up to being a famous mercenary. With me. I could make you a partner, instead of just an associate or a soldier, and you wouldn't have to deal with things like that hardly ever again."

He nuzzled Zaknafein's neck. "I wish no one would hurt you. I don't find pleasure in your pain. No one else deserves you. They won't respect you. They won't help you become great."

He'd never spoken to someone this way, and he didn't know why he was now, and especially to a vulnerable young student he was only going to scare. He felt so strongly. He didn't know what to do with himself.

"I don't want them to hurt you anymore. I would rather have myself in that situation than you."

He was terrified to go back to that situation! Why would he say that? Jarlaxle felt a powerful surge of contempt for these Academy masters, who thought they knew everything and ruled the world. He wouldn't be affected the same way Zaknafein was affected, that's why. He was a grown male, and he could stand up to them. They were picking on someone less than their size and somehow that was okay. Well, it wasn't okay. He should punch them in the eye and kick them in the groin, right now.

Jarlaxle's words made Zaknafein uneasy. He didn't know what to think of them, what to think of Jarlaxle's kindness. People weren't just nice to him, and it disconcerted Zaknafein. He couldn't understand why Jarlaxle would say these things. That last sentence made Zaknafein straighten up suddenly, and he stared at Jarlaxle as if the mercenary had lost his mind.

"That doesn't make any sense," he said and shook his head. "Don't say such things, because I know you can't mean them. You don't need to say them to make me -" Zaknafein stopped suddenly, realising that he had absolutely no idea what Jarlaxle wanted to obtain with his words.

Jarlaxle stuck out his lower lip stubbornly. His hands were clenched into fists, and he couldn't help that.

"I do mean them, and it does make sense. If they had to deal with me instead of you, then they would stop calling you pretty and following you around and making you beg for them so they can pretend you enjoy being roughed up and raped for three hours. I'd tell them to their faces, those dirty bastards. I'd tell them they're sick, and they're angry because their Matrons don't want them, and they're so ugly they make spiders die just by looking at them. I'd tell them what they can do with their stupid urges. I'd cut off their penises and feed them to driders. I'd punch them in the face and use their teeth for buttons."

He was breathing heavily, but felt good. He stopped, much calmer, and stroked Zaknafein's cheek, looking at him thoughtfully.

"I would be between you and them, so you wouldn't come to me covered in welts and bruises like you did today, having to sit on pillows because he can't keep his dick to himself."

Zaknafein might have smiled imagining what Jarlaxle would do to those bastards, but somehow he felt angry. Jarlaxle made it sound like Zaknafein was weak, like it was his fault that he couldn't fend them off. He evaded Jarlaxle's touch and glared at him.

"You wouldn't do anything different if you were in my position. I tried to defend myself, I didn't just give in because I'm weak or a coward! If they had to deal with you, you would be the one sitting here with welts and bruises! That's why it doesn't make sense. I won't let you tell me that I am too weak to defend myself, and if I were as strong as you it would be different. It wouldn't!"

Jarlaxle stared at him. He didn't say anything. He felt numb inside. He didn't really have anything to say, and he didn't feel bad about saying what he said.

"If it isn't, isn't any different no matter who they are, wouldn't you give anything to have someone in your place?"

"I'm grateful for every time he takes another student and leaves me alone. But it's nothing I can decide about," Zaknafein said. The way Jarlaxle looked at him hurt him, and he felt guilty for snapping at him.

"I wouldn't want you to be in my place," he added.

"Why not?" Jarlaxle asked calmly. "I'd rather be in your place. When it comes to fighting, no one is as good as you. His raping is another way he's trying to hold you back. I don't appreciate it when people conspire to rob someone of their potential. I have more power of the mind than the body, and if so, I should be the one who has these things done to them. Not you. Every ounce of your energy should go to honing your edge, not healing from careless masters' wounds and wondering whether you'll get raped tonight. He's wasting your time, and I don't like that." The growl was back in his voice again.

"And he wouldn't be wasting yours? You, the ambitious. brilliant mercenary? You don't have any more time for this than I do. And I wouldn't want him to touch you," he said firmly, almost angrily when he imagined Jarlaxle in the hands of that master. He realised that he didn't want anyone to touch Jarlaxle unless the mercenary wanted it ... The thought confused him.

"It's pointless to argue about this. You _can't_ take my place, and I will be away from him in a few months."

Jarlaxle cuddled up to him, gently pulling him down so they were both lying down on the sofa, Jarlaxle on top of him.

"I just don't want you to go," Jarlaxle mumbled. "I'm selfish." Nestling on top of him this way made him feel as if he could protect Zaknafein, hide him like a valuable gem or a knife. "It is lonely, being so smart, only having one other person in the whole world as smart as me."

He looked at Zaknafein with big, repentant eyes. Zaknafein hesitated, but then he softly wrapped his arms around Jarlaxle and pulled him close to his chest.

"You don't want to have me with you because I'm smart," he said quietly. His voice wasn't reproachful - he just knew that there was something else that made them so close to each other, he just didn't know what it was. "I won't go anywhere ... I won't disappear when I leave the Academy."

"Who sent you to the Academy? I keep hearing rumours that it was Malice Do'Urden, but that can't be right," Jarlaxle said. "Why would she care what one of her soldiers does?"

"She doesn't. The Weapon Master of House Do'Urden thought I should go to the Academy. Matron Mother Vartha ignored his suggestion, and Malice insisted I go just to oppose her mother. And because she sleeps with the Weapon Master. She has never bothered to meet me, and why should she?" Zaknafein explained.

Jarlaxle settled down in his embrace. "Then she won't be waiting for you with baited breath, and the Weapon Master has only professional reasons."

He kissed Zaknafein's neck and ear. "I'm afraid. I'm afraid what will happen to you, and I don't know whether or not you want to join me as a mercenary."

"I told you I don't," Zaknafein said and sighed, but he didn't push Jarlaxle away. His softly stroked the mercenary's back, his hands sometimes wandering up to the smooth scalp. "I told you what I want. I am not going to change my mind just because I like being close to you."

Jarlaxle grinned. "I could hope, couldn't I? I could hope that my charm worked even on stubborn youths who slaver for glory."

His eyelids were getting heavy under Zaknafein's ministrations.

"I could pretend that you said yes, and keep on talking about the first job I'll give you when you come to join..."

"Your charm would only work if you stopped treating me like a child," Zaknafein grumbled, but he didn't seem angry, and he kept caressing Jarlaxle. "Would you want to do that? Pretend? You would only be disappointed if your clever words will fail to make me change my mind."

Jarlaxle nuzzled him and started kissing his chest. "I suppose I don't have to have you as a mercenary. We could keep doing this. You would like to keep doing this, wouldn't you? You could meet me, we could come here, or another restaurant, we could have dinner, or dessert, and come up to a room, and have privacy. To talk, and do whatever else we want to do. You...you like me, don't you?"

He asked this last in a shy, fearful whisper. He was already ready to hear 'no'.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

A content sigh, close to a moan, escaped Zaknafein's lips when Jarlaxle started kissing his chest. It was such a beautiful contrast to what his master at the Academy had done only a few hours ago. Zaknafein was silent for a moment, focusing only on those light, tender caresses, until he realised that he hadn't answered yet.

"Yes ... I do. I would like to keep coming here with you. It's nice ..."

Jarlaxle trembled, pausing. "Do you mean that? I've never had a lover before ... Is it out of friendship, or is it because you also ... want to do things with me?" He stumbled over the shy phrasing, suddenly not wanting to say _'vith'_, feeling that it sounded too sharp.

Zaknafein looked at him and kissed him softly on the lips. "Both ... if that is what you want," he replied quietly.

Jarlaxle returned the kiss, strongly and passionately. He broke the kiss to pepper Zaknafein's face with more kisses, and worked his way down to his neck.

"We'll show them. They'll regret not treating you better. You, the famous Weapon Master, and me, the famous mercenary. You and I will be an unbeatable combination. It'll be Menzoberranzan eating out of the palms of our hands. Relatively speaking, of course. We're only males. But we'll command respect, finally, when we can control what gets done and what doesn't. You can help me train new mercenaries, and I can supply Houses like yours with temporary soldiers and run errands. It will be..." Jarlaxle kissed him on the lips again. "...perfect."

Zaknafein closed his eyes, allowing himself to dream for a few moments. Yes, it sounded perfect ... And right now he didn't even want to remind himself that it was impossible. He opened his eyes again after a while and whispered in Jarlaxle's ear, "You know, I really liked that bed last time ... Maybe we could continue talking there ..."

"You're in charge," Jarlaxle said, rolling off of him and allowing himself to thunk onto the floor. He jumped up, grinning, as though he'd done some sort of masterful trick. He gestured grandly. "Lead on, o lover."

Zaknafein got up as well, much more slowly and shaking his head at Jarlaxle's antics. He hesitated, however, looking uneasy for several moments until he forced himself to calm down. He just smiled at Jarlaxle - the lascivious smile he had brought to perfection over the last years - before he turned around and walked into the bedroom.

Jarlaxle smiled back, a little puzzled at Zaknafein's expression. Jarlaxle followed him, and asked lightly, laughing, "Why do you have a smile you turn on and off like faerie fire?"

Zaknafein stopped and turned around, staring at Jarlaxle before he looked away. "If you don't like it ..." he mumbled, obviously embarrassed. If Jarlaxle already didn't like that smile, what else might he not like? Zaknafein didn't want to have the mercenary laugh at him.

Jarlaxle stopped smiling. "I didn't mean I didn't ... well ... I am finding out about a lot of worries I have for you. It makes me critical. I know it's unreasonable of me, and we've only been in the same room together twice. I may be overstepping my boundaries. I just didn't know how to ask ... I pry. A lot. It saddens me that someone so young has already manufactured a look that I have no idea what it means. I am a century older than you are, and I have no ability to read that expression of yours. I don't know if I made you uncomfortable, or if you are still in pain, or if you're thinking ..."

Jarlaxle spread his arms hopelessly. "I thought ... maybe ... that I could teach you to have few or no secrets around me. As I said, I pry. Perhaps I should start a spying business."

"I was just smiling ... I thought you would like that," Zaknafein sighed and looked sadly at Jarlaxle. If the things he knew how to do, the things that usually worked now failed him, he felt helpless ... He didn't know what else Jarlaxle would expect him to do.

"You talk too much," he said suddenly, so quiet that it was hardly audible.

Jarlaxle smiled sheepishly. "It's my defence. I didn't mean to pick apart yours ... or insult you. I like to drown people with words because they don't ask me things after that. I like not being asked things. Is it wrong? To want to know everything about you, without revealing anything of myself?"

Then he snapped his fingers. "Do you just want to get on the bed with me and _vith_?"

Zaknafein hardly hesitated, but simply closed the distance between them and pulled Jarlaxle close. He kissed the older drow passionately - even if Jarlaxle hadn't asked for it, Zaknafein would have kissed him, if only to keep him from talking. Without stopping to kiss him he shoved Jarlaxle towards the bed.

Jarlaxle was so surprised that he stumbled. First he was being kissed, and then shoved. He completely lost his footing.

Zaknafein only ended the kiss to push Jarlaxle on the bed before he kneeled down to take the mercenary's boots off. He pulled his own boots off just as quickly before he joined Jarlaxle on the bed. Zaknafein grinned a bit, more naturally, but also a bit insecurely as if he expected Jarlaxle to laugh again.

Jarlaxle, however, only looked nonplussed that Zaknafein had finally started taking control.

"You're much more handsome when you're not trying to be something you think others want," Jarlaxle said after a moment, realising he was staring at Zaknafein's face.

He gave Zak his own little smile. "I like a forceful person. I need someone to match my own level of energy. I won't have to hold back all the time."

"But I will have to hold back or I would hurt you," Zaknafein whispered. "I don't want that."

He just looked at Jarlaxle for a few moments, before he suddenly straddled him and bent down to kiss his face. The eye-patch bothered him a bit, but Jarlaxle had said that it was off-limits, so Zaknafein did his best to ignore it.

Jarlaxle met him the rest of the way, reaching out and grabbing Zaknafein's arms - not to pull, just to have his hands there.

Zaknafein's fingers quickly moved to Jarlaxle's vest and opened the buttons. His lips moved down to Jarlaxle's throat and then to the now exposed chest. He wasn't particularly tender - he didn't know how to do that - but he didn't hurt Jarlaxle, and he stayed extremely attentive to the mercenary's reactions, always trying to adjust his caresses to what Jarlaxle seemed to want.

Jarlaxle squirmed, unable to help it under those ministrations. They felt good, and he felt heat rising in his cheeks. No one ever touched him with such avid interest before. No one who wasn't malicious.

While Zaknafein's tongue was tracing wet lines on Jarlaxle's abdomen his hands were already moving on to the buttons of the mercenary's breeches. He was undoing them slowly, and he only sat up to slide them off Jarlaxle's hips, discarding them somewhere onto the floor beside the bed. For a few moments he just took his time to look at Jarlaxle, apparently quite fascinated by what he saw.

Jarlaxle was blushing, panting and shaking from Zaknafein's caresses and startlingly embarrassed to be suddenly ... disrobed like this. He could say whatever he wanted, but all of it was bluster to hide the fact that he was really insecure about his body. He'd been told by his family again and again that he was scrawny and weak, and part of it still stuck.

Zaknafein wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of the right words. He did not want to say that Jarlaxle was beautiful - even if it was true - because it reminded him too much of the empty words of the priestesses and masters. Finally, for a lack of better words, he mumbled, "I like your body."

He hoped that Jarlaxle wouldn't misunderstand him - thinking that he _only_ liked his body. He gave Jarlaxle another hesitating look before he resumed his caresses, his lips now getting closer to Jarlaxle's thighs.

Jarlaxle tried to hold his gaze on Zaknafein's eyes and failed miserably, looking away aimlessly at something, anything else. He was so much more comfortable being the one doling out caresses than being the one lying down and taking them.

Jarlaxle was struck by how close to a mirror image this was of last time. He was on his back now, and Zaknafein was ... He almost gasped. Did Zaknafein intend to do _that_ to him?

He wished that he could stop shaking and get up, but he couldn't, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt the fighter's feelings. He just didn't really trust anyone to touch him down there without hurting him. It had been one of his Matron's favourite tricks: to pretend that she was going to pleasure him, and then ... _pinch_. Jarlaxle swallowed.

Zaknafein supposed that Jarlaxle's shivering was caused by his arousal, so he just continued. He didn't hesitate - he had done this countless times for men he hated, so we should he refuse to do it for someone he actually liked and desired?

He laid strong, but careful fingers around the base of Jarlaxle's erection before he licked it once from the base to the tip. Zaknafein looked up at Jarlaxle for a second before he wrapped his lips around Jarlaxle's erection, fighting down the gag reflex when he took it further into his mouth.

Jarlaxle choked down a cry and bit his lip desperately, breath whistling. He twisted once, and then fought to stay still, even though electric bolts of pure, raw feeling ran through his body.

"I just...I just..."

He had a sudden, horrible vision of Zaknafein biting it off. Then he closed his eyes and really did lie still, not wanting to provoke Zaknafein into making his vision a reality.

Zaknafein didn't reply of course, he just continued to suck and lick, trying to do his best and ignoring for the moment his fears that it might not be good enough for the mercenary. He gradually increased his rhythm, determined not to stop until he had given Jarlaxle release.

A slow whine began in the back of Jarlaxle's throat. He felt his erection pulsing.

"I don't want to climax yet." He was blinking, unfocused, at the ceiling, not realising that he was speaking out loud. He felt as though he couldn't speak. "I haven't done anything to you, yet. Why do you want me over so quickly? I like you."

Zaknafein lifted his head in surprise and licked over his lips. He looked a bit disappointed, as if Jarlaxle had told him that he had failed.

"I don't mind doing this for you," he said quietly. They had the whole night, they were both young ... there was no reason why this should be over just because he finished now what he had just started.

Jarlaxle looked at him, equally surprised. "All right." He meekly settled back down.

Zaknafein seemed reassured and smiled a bit before he resumed his task. He managed to ignore his own hair that was hanging in his face and just focused on what his lips and tongue did, finally swallowing as well as he managed. Breathing heavily he straightened up and looked down at Jarlaxle, his eyes wide.

Jarlaxle shrugged uncomfortably. "What is it?"

Zaknafein looked away and laid down next to him, asking quietly, "Was that all right?"

Jarlaxle flushed. "I...I...never had a good time before." It was hard, being coherent when he was feeling as if he were floating in a sea of warm towels. "M-Matron, she always used to hurt me down there. She'd get me wanting her and then stick needles in me, or pinch it."

He laboured to sit up. "To tell the truth, I never let anyone touch me there since."

Zaknafein grimaced at those words - his experiences with priestesses were less numerous than Jarlaxle's, but he knew how cruel some females could be. He gave Jarlaxle a surprisingly _sad_ look and softly stroked his cheek. Jarlaxle instinctively flinched before he could stop himself. Zaknafein sighed and drew back.

"I would never do that," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I may be brutal sometimes, but I wouldn't do something like that."

_Especially not to you_, he added in his thoughts, but he didn't dare to speak those words aloud. As much as he liked Jarlaxle, he couldn't simply forget everything he had been taught in his life and _accept_ his feelings completely.

Jarlaxle couldn't keep himself from trembling. He was all keyed up now. The good experience he had just had was almost forgotten. It seemed far away. He was caught off guard simply by remembering one of the things he had tried to suppress. It had been so long that he hadn't expected to be bothered by the recollection ever again. But he was wrong. His body tingled all over from dread. He didn't know how it could have escaped him, the danger he was in. The danger of exposing himself to somebody, vulnerable, and allowing himself to care. He knew what happened to him when he cared. It hurt.

He felt as though he had suddenly realised for the first time that he was naked in bed with a practical stranger, showing himself without any of his masks. He hadn't cared, before. But that one small memory of pins sliding into his erect penis was so vivid that his throat closed up and he could hardly breathe. How he looked at Zaknafein, seeing the fighter as a sympathetic figure when he was in pain, frightened him most of all.

Zaknafein looked only confused now, maybe even worried. He could almost _see_ how Jarlaxle was withdrawing from him, how he was trying to shut him out after those intimate, almost trusting moments. And the young fighter realised that he didn't want this to end, he didn't want to lose Jarlaxle now that the mercenary had shown him already so much of himself.

Zaknafein had for the first time in his life experienced something like affection, the tender beginning of something that might be trust one day, and he wanted to keep it. More than that, he felt as if losing it now would break his heart more than everything else he had gone through in the last thirty years.

"Jarlaxle." His voice was only a whisper. He had no idea what he should say or do in such a situation. Touching Jarlaxle was the only way he knew to express his feelings, but he didn't want to be pushed away again. Tears prickled up and rolled down Jarlaxle's cheeks in response.

"I never told anybody." He leant forward, silently inviting an embrace he couldn't bring himself to ask for.

Zaknafein's eyes widened a bit. He couldn't remember if he had ever seen a drow cry, unless it was in physical pain. The sight startled him so much that he didn't react immediately.

After a few seconds he managed to pull himself together. He still did not dare to embrace Jarlaxle again, he just ran one hand over the mercenary's arm and shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. He lifted his other hand to wipe the tears off Jarlaxle's cheeks.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anybody," he said calmly, supposing that Jarlaxle feared he might do what every other drow would do - try to use the information against him.

Jarlaxle's last barriers went down when he heard the promise. He let out a wail and surged forward into Zaknafein's arms, pressing himself against the student's body. He wiggled until he was comfortable and clung to him, making himself a place before Zaknafein could change his mind.

Zaknafein froze in surprise, but he quickly relaxed again. His strong arms sneaked around Jarlaxle and held him close, calloused hands stroking the mercenary's back. He could hardly believe that Jarlaxle was so open-hearted, and he couldn't understand why Jarlaxle believed that he was different from other drow. But Zaknafein knew better than to speak now, so he remained silent and continued to caress Jarlaxle, waiting for him to calm down again.

Jarlaxle let out a deep breath. His voice still wavered unsteadily, but it wasn't so full of raw emotion.

"She would make me recall the worst memories and then entice me while I was at my weakest. Every time, she would hurt me ... at the end. I didn't know what to do. She took me from my family when I was only sixteen, and they let her take me. I spent all of my life figuring how to escape her."

A shiver passed through his body. "I didn't know what to do ... and my mother hated me. She never wanted a male. She executed my father for making her bear one. She tried to sacrifice me to Lolth, but I wasn't a third child. She wouldn't take me. My mother had to raise me. I was always alone, and, she didn't even want me as a soldier. It meant - that woman ... meant ... she didn't have to. Keep me, I mean."

Zaknafein tightened his embrace, glad that he didn't have to look at Jarlaxle right now. He felt completely out of place in this situation, not knowing what he was supposed to do. Listen silently? Say something? Express pity, understanding? Try to give comfort? He didn't want to hurt Jarlaxle even more by saying something inappropriate.

"But it's over now, you have escaped her," Zaknafein said after a while. His lips were close to Jarlaxle's ear, almost touching it. "You told me yourself that you are free now, more independent than a male could be in every other situation."

He hoped it had been the right thing to say, but he was almost prepared to have Jarlaxle slap him or yell at him.

Jarlaxle sighed, let some of the tremors pass, calmed down. He looked at Zaknafein, and the look on his face made his first words completely unnecessary. It was the look of someone about to walk off the edge into a spike filled pit.

"It...It hurts. I'm so clever. Why didn't she want me?"

"Because priestesses hate clever males. They hate males who are more than obedient tools, who have a personality. That's why they try to beat it out of us," Zaknafein sighed, and he looked beaten himself in that moment. He knew that the priestesses and the Academy had almost managed to take away every personality he had.

"You called me brainwashed, last time, and yet you allow yourself to be hurt by the contempt some female has shown you long ago. She's not worth it. Don't let her control you even now." Zaknafein didn't know what he was saying, if he was making any sense at all. It just made him angry and sad to see Jarlaxle like this - this apparently so strong, independent mercenary, who seemed to be free from the misery of Menzoberranzan, and who turned out to be as beaten and humiliated as every other drow male. Zaknafein refused to accept it. Jarlaxle had given him hope last time, hope that there was another way to survive than by becoming a weapon in a priestess's hand, and now he saw that hope crumble.

"Cleverness is a good thing," Jarlaxle said, and he pouted. His expression changed from dangerously suicidal to childishly defiant in an instant. "I can get people to believe what they want about me. I dress in these clothes so everyone believes I'm an idiot." He looked down and seemed to notice with mild surprise that he wasn't wearing the clothes in question. He didn't let that stop him from continuing his thoughts. "I can make word games, and beat everyone I know at sava, and gather troops."

He suddenly changed the subject. "Goblins have a thing called _'yan'_. Mothers have it for their children. It means," his brow furrowed, "the mother cares about and likes all her children, she never hurts them, and if they get into trouble, she helps them - and she hugs them and gives them things. Like food. Herself. Instead of making a slave do it." His eyes met Zaknafein's, and they were clear of any calculation - a strange, clear look that would have made any drow uneasy. "That's why I don't hate goblins."

Zaknafein simply continued to hug and caress Jarlaxle at first, finding the closeness quite comforting himself before he had to let go of him and looked at him. His face turned into a mask of confusion at Jarlaxle's strange look and his even stranger words.

"That's absurd. Why would mothers do that? And why would anyone want to have their mother around more often than necessary?" Zaknafein snorted and shook his head. "And even if it is true, it might explain why goblins are slaves and we are not. How is society supposed to work if people trust and like each other just like that? It makes you vulnerable."

Jarlaxle scowled. "If female drow were capable of _'yan'_, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. If I had my say, if I were Lolth instead of Lolth, I'd _make_ everyone capable of _yan_. The reason they're not is because of their own fault. If I can't make everyone capable of _yan_, I'll make then suffer for not giving me -" He cut himself off.

"I'm sorry if I seem contradictory," he said, with a quick smile, "but I think that for not liking me and for making me suffer, I ought to exact punishment from females who think they're better than me. I wouldn't necessarily commit acts of violence against them - but who's to say it's my duty to prevent violence from happening to them? Plenty of people are violent to females, including themselves. If I don't stop them from killing each other, it's hardly the same as murder." He seemed genuinely happy now. "I'll just manipulate everyone around me who is incapable of _yan _and get what I want that way. And if they happen not to be able to yield results either way, I'll clean my hands of them."

Jarlaxle gave Zaknafein an affectionate look. "You, you gave me what I needed. You have significant potential. Don't let yourself get talked out of being able to feel _yan_ for someone."

Zaknafein's facial expression was unreadable while he listened to Jarlaxle. He couldn't say that he understood even half of what the mercenary was saying, and he wasn't sure if that was his fault or if Jarlaxle was simply too insane to make sense to anyone else.

"I gave you what you needed?" he asked, picking a part that sounded halfway reasonable. "Because I was nice to you?" He seemed to think about this and shrugged, not giving away what he was really thinking.

"Oh, and the females ... you should try being violent to them some time. It's beautiful. I killed a female once, a commoner of course, back in the slums," he explained, unconsciously trying to steer away from a conversation that made him only confused and uncomfortable. "I don't think I've ever been as satisfied as when I killed her," he continued, an almost dreamy look on his face before he grinned at Jarlaxle again.

Jarlaxle smiled back uncertainly. "I can't ... Not yet. Most of my clients ...Well, I'd be run out of business if I were openly hostile. If I nudge things in the right direction to guarantee a female's death, on the other hand, then I gain respect."

He gave Zak a pleading look. "Are you sure you won't join? It would be fun having a rogue member who will randomly kill females. Then we can both be happy. You can do the killing, and I can do the denying. 'Oh, no, I didn't tell him to do that, I profusely apologise.'" He broke out into a huge, mischievous grin.

Zaknafein first looked disappointed - apparently he had believed that being a mercenary was much more fun than that - but then he had to grin.

"I'm not sure that would be good for your business. But as a House soldier, or even Weapon Master, I would get to kill a whole lot of drow." Zaknafein's eyes were sparkling now, and he looked happier than Jarlaxle had probably ever seen him. Happier, and somehow thrice as insane.

Jarlaxle sighed. "Well, okay, but I don't want you telling me later when you want in that I never invited you."

"I won't," Zaknafein chuckled and nibbled on Jarlaxle's earlobe while he drew him closer again. "And you won't send me away if I ever come back to you and ask you to take me in, will you?"

Jarlaxle laughed. "Of course not! I'll say, 'What took you so long, you silly elf!' and we'll break open the wine."

Zaknafein couldn't help but laugh. It sounded strange to his own ears - not the amused, cruel laugh he knew to well from others and from himself, but simply an expression of ... happiness. "And even if you hesitate," he added after a few moments, "I think I discovered today the perfect way to make you give in to me."

His smile almost looked lewd for a second before it became softer again.

Jarlaxle's eyes lit up. "A hug?"

Zaknafein blinked. "I was thinking of something more ... intense. Something that involved my tongue," he said in the most even tone he could manage.

Jarlaxle turned bright red. "Or I could do that too," he said in a small voice. "We could work out a deal, I think."

"Probably, yes," Zaknafein answered and chuckled again. "Maybe we could start working on it right now." He pushed Jarlaxle on his back and leant forward to kiss him slowly.

Jarlaxle immediately felt himself getting hard again and floundered somewhere between confusion, embarrassment, and alarm. Zaknafein smiled and kissed him again, more impatiently now. After all he had spent the whole night taking care of Jarlaxle's needs so far, more or less ignoring his own.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

A week had passed since the graduation ceremony, but Zaknafein hadn't left the Academy since then. The experience still haunted him, not to mention that he had been exhausted and injured. While the noble graduates had returned to their houses for a few days Zaknafein had stayed at Melee-Magthere, sitting in his room most of the time.

He hadn't wanted to see Jarlaxle. The mercenary would only ask him again to leave, and Zaknafein was tired of arguing with him. He had graduated as first of his class, and he was even looking forwards to the next weeks - on the patrols through the Underdark he would be able to vent his anger and his frustration.

But as they would leave tomorrow night Zaknafein had decided to spend one last evening in town, drinking in a tavern, and maybe he would find himself some pretty young student when he returned to the Academy. He only hoped that Jarlaxle had better things to do tonight than wait for him.

Zaknafein left the Academy in the evening, much earlier than usual, hoping that Jarlaxle wouldn't expect him at this hour.

Jarlaxle was sitting on the planter.

Zaknafein couldn't suppress an angry growl when he spotted his friend. Should an ambitious mercenary not have work to do? At least sometimes? Zaknafein continued on his way, and when he passed Jarlaxle he grumbled, "I'm not in the mood for your games."

Jarlaxle opened his mouth, comically paused, and then asked, "Games?"

He looked like he wanted to hop down from the sill of the planter, but he wasn't sure he should.

"Yes," Zaknafein growled, as if it should be obvious what he was talking about. But at least he finally stopped. He had a scratch on his cheek, almost healed, but still visible. He wore a new chain mail, more decorated and of a better quality than his old one. A servant had brought it to him two days after the graduation - a reward from his House for being first of his class.

Jarlaxle hopped down from the sill. "That is quite a fine shirt of mail you have," he said, cautiously admiring.

Zaknafein managed to hide his smile. He was quite proud of his new armour, too, but he didn't want Jarlaxle to know.

"Apparently House Do'Urden has decided that I am worth it," he said nonetheless, and his voice sounded quite proud and self-confident now.

"You were always worth it," Jarlaxle said quietly. "It is the fools who see you differently now instead of appreciating who you are and have always been."

"You know, _that _is why I didn't want to see you," Zaknafein snapped back, his pride once again replaced with grumpiness. Couldn't Jarlaxle just congratulate him, say something nice? "What do you want?"

Jarlaxle recoiled, taking a step back automatically. He bowed, kneeling, and took off his hat. "Forgive me, Master Zaknafein. I did not mean to anger you."

Zaknafein just snorted. "Yes, mocking me is a wonderful idea," he said sarcastically.

Jarlaxle looked only at the dark stone of the street. "Of course, Master Zaknafein. You are right. I was not being properly respectful. Please, forgive me." He didn't _sound _as if he were mocking him.

That made Zaknafein hesitate, but then he decided that Jarlaxle was probably just a good actor. He had to be.

"I don't know what you think you are doing," he said, sounding more confused now. But then he simply turned around as if he wanted to leave.

"Nothing, Master Zaknafein. I am not thinking." Jarlaxle didn't get up, and he didn't move.

Zaknafein turned back, now thoroughly confused. This wasn't anything like Jarlaxle ... Zaknafein sighed and grabbed Jarlaxle's arm to make him straighten up. "Stop this, damn it. Did someone hit you on the head since I've last seen you?" He glared at him, but he looked slightly worried now.

Jarlaxle stood up immediately, looking at him with wide eyes. "Yes, Master Zaknafein. I have sustained no head injuries, Master Zaknafein."

Now Zaknafein was getting positively scared. This wasn't _his_ Jarlaxle, the ever confident, independent, smiling mercenary, but some impostor.

"This is ridiculous, Jarlaxle. You're acting like some brainless slave, not like yourself. What do you think you will obtain like this?"

Jarlaxle's gaze flickered down to the ground again. "How do I act like myself, Master Zaknafein? I do not hope to obtain anything, Master Zaknafein."

"Stop calling me Master Zaknafein! Where's the independent Jarlaxle who says what he wants to say, who tells _me_ not to act like you are acting now? I think they brainwashed you instead of me."

Zaknafein felt _hurt_. Jarlaxle was his only friend, the only person he could trust at least to some extent. And now his friend and lover behaved like a slave, for no reason Zaknafein could possibly imagine. Yes, he was angry and grumpy, but not for the first time since he had first met Jarlaxle, and the mercenary had never been like that.

Jarlaxle looked at him, smirking smugly. "You do like me." He straightened his hat prissily and opened his arms wide. "The self-same male who stands before you is that independent Jarlaxle, my friend. Didn't you recognise me?" He winked. "Or were you fooled by the fact that I was treating you like every other client? Or ... like a young Weapon Master in the making?"

He grinned. "Do I get a hug?"

Zaknafein blinked stupidly, but then he punched Jarlaxle in the chest - not as hard as he could, but hard enough to hurt him without doing serious injury.

"No, damn you! You scared me," Zaknafein grumbled, but he looked less angry than before. "What a stupid idea! As if I were any other client, or any other young fighter you don't know."

"You could have been," Jarlaxle said. He didn't even look as though that hurt him. Based on his performance, though, Zaknafein could have set him on fire and his expression would not have changed. He waggled an index finger. "You could have been just like any other student. That's the Academy's goal. You went through their very worst. I had no right to expect you to come out again."

"That's absurd. They didn't manage to change me in nine years; why should they have managed to change me in the last few weeks? Especially as I kept your words in mind," he sighed. "Anyway, as you refuse to go away ... Where will we go tonight?"

Jarlaxle's expression glittered with anticipation. "I think it's time to take you to the premiere gathering spot for post-graduate males. The Four Masks."

He chuckled and whispered gleefully, "I don't think I'd ever get in, even with my connections as a mercenary, but with you ... you were first in your class. Getting in will be as easy as squashing spiders."

"Wonderful, first you play games with me, and now I have to get you into a tavern where I will meet my annoying classmates. You must hate me," Zaknafein said.

"You pay. I want their best wine and the best room." He looked rather serious, only his eyes twinkled in amusement.

Jarlaxle bowed, and his smile, just barely able to be seen with his head tilted down, turned mischievous. "Yes, Master Zaknafein."

"I might just like it if you use that name in bed," Zaknafein replied quietly, his voice husky. "Master Do'Urden sounds even nicer, don't you think?"

Master Do'Urden ... a name a commoner like Zaknafein could only acquire as patron or Weapon Master.

Jarlaxle straightened, his expression turning serious. "Master Do'Urden."

He looked as though he were pondering the weight of that name and the consequences it might have.

"Yes," Zaknafein said with a smile. "I would like that. Weapon Master of House Do'Urden. It has a nice ring to it, no?" For a moment Zaknafein looked almost happy. "Let's go, shall we?"

The Four Masks was, in fact, the shadiest of all hangouts, an enormous, sprawling building partly underground. It was built into a slope in such a way that the ground floor on one side was the second floor on the other. Decorative stalagmites stuck out all over it, and the stone used in its building was exclusively black in colour, both in infravision and in normal vision. Few ordinary graduates would choose to be there, also, because of the rumours that Vhaeraun's worshippers liked The Four Masks for meetings and clandestine exchanges. It excited Jarlaxle to no end.

Zaknafein sighed softly. He could think of nicer places to be, but now that he had agreed there was no way out. The doormen gave them - and especially Jarlaxle - a more than suspicious look, but apparently they knew enough about the recent graduates to recognise Zaknafein and let him and his strange companion pass.

Zaknafein took a look-around in the tavern once they had entered. He did his best to ignore several of his classmates and decided to let Jarlaxle do the talking when a pretty half-human, half-faerie slave walked up to them and bowed, waiting to take them to a free table.

"A secluded table for my lover and I," Jarlaxle said, glowering at her. He gestured at her impatiently. "We are hungry, and we do not want to wait all night."

She took the harsh words without a change in expression and began to lead them to their table. The room was honeycombed with booths built into the wall, and crowded with tables all through the walkway. A chaotic growth of stalactites and stalagmites formed the core of the circular dining space. Black rock that shone all the colours of the rainbow made up the walls, and the high ceiling was lined with glittering geodes.

They wound their way past many crowded tables, males talking and laughing. Jarlaxle inhaled deeply. The wonderful smell of succulent roasting meat was in the air.

They ended up walking all the way to the back of the room. There, large booths were screened by spider silk curtains. The female slave stopped at one such booth and gestured.

Zaknafein didn't say anything and just followed Jarlaxle and the slave. He managed to appear bored and indifferent when many curious eyes followed them on their way through the room. Zaknafein smiled at the sight of that perfectly secluded booth and immediately sat down, winking at Jarlaxle.

It was only when they were alone that he said, "Your lover? Does everyone need to know that?" He didn't sound angry, rather disbelieving that Jarlaxle was so careless.

Jarlaxle looked at him curiously. "This place is full of lovers. In addition, Zaknafein, things so easily admitted to tavern slaves, in the open, in front of everyone, are usually discredited by anyone that listens. You are alarmed because of the lack of layers. The strangers here will assume layers and come up with something far better than anything I could have - a satisfying explanation for each individual listener." He held up an index finger. "Learn, Zaknafein: the truth is sometimes the best cover."

"You're probably right," Zaknafein sighed. Unfortunately, in a world as twisted as theirs, these words made perfectly sense. He softly took Jarlaxle's hands and ran his thumb over the mercenary's palm. "Did you really think I would forget about you after the graduation? Nobody else can give me this."

"I didn't think you would forget about me, Zaknafein," Jarlaxle said carefully. "I knew that would not happen. But I thought that you might not see me the same way. You might not want me anymore."

"Why would that be?" Zaknafein continued to caress the mercenary's hand. "Just because I graduated? I was ... I'm not exactly good-humoured, that's why I didn't want to see you."

He looked away and suddenly drew his hand back. He didn't know how to explain himself. He _had_ been extremely unfriendly to Jarlaxle earlier that night, but still ... Jarlaxle should know that Zaknafein was just difficult sometimes.

"I know, but..." Jarlaxle trailed off. "When you graduated you were subjected to one more pain, one more torture, before they gave you the power you deserved. The potent combination of pain and power ... It can change people. Could change _you_. When you gave me those unfriendly words, I didn't know if...they had done something to you."

"They did things to me," Zaknafein said sadly, and he touched unconsciously the scratch on his cheek. "I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't met you ... But this way, I had your words to think of. It helped. In a way, it made everything worse, but it helped. I just didn't want to see you because ... it's not an experience you can easily forget."

Jarlaxle wanted to leap across the table and hug him. But he contained himself. This wasn't the place for it.

"What did you think of?" he asked quietly instead.

Zaknafein wasn't looking at him anymore. He stared at the wall over Jarlaxle's head. "I thought of what you had told me ... that I shouldn't be a slave, a toy. That I shouldn't let them decide what I had to think and believe. I thought that you were right, that I didn't want to become some obedient, weak soldier."

Jarlaxle reached out and took his hand. "It must have been hard."

Zaknafein didn't react to Jarlaxle's hand on his, but he looked at him again. "It was hard. Painful. Humiliating. And they were angry because they saw that I wasn't ... broken. They saw that I had still a personality left. That I was still _me_ and not just a strong, nimble body, useful and entertaining. But I didn't let them reduce me to that ..."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn't remember everything that had happened that night, but he remembered more than enough.

Jarlaxle trembled in spite of himself, thinking of the chilling female eyes searching Zaknafein's face, the horrible moment when they knew and he knew they knew.

He left his side of the table and slid in next to Zaknafein so that he could put his arm around him. Zaknafein flinched, but then he leant against Jarlaxle, resting his head on the mercenary's shoulder.

"I survived. They didn't kill me because I still ... pleasured them. But they were hardly gentle, even less so than usual," he whispered and closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them again almost immediately, as if the memories would return too strongly if he kept his eyes closed.

"Because they got you to do things, even though it didn't mean you gave up," Jarlaxle said almost inaudibly. He ran his hand through Zaknafein's hair.

"I need you so much. Please don't let the memories do what they couldn't do. Please don't let their efforts be a slow poison."

"I won't lose now, I've come too far to give up," he replied softly and cuddled up to Jarlaxle. "I will be fine as long as you're here. I just don't want to be alone with these memories."

Jarlaxle cradled him. "I won't ever leave you as long as you need me. I'll always be here. I care about you deeply."

"Without you I would have become like the other soldiers ... I was already so close." Zaknafein paused for a moment. "Maybe it would have been easier. But it's not what I want. I'd rather have them beat me every day than be like them."

Jarlaxle kissed him on the forehead. "I was so close to losing you, I know. I was frightened. I was afraid that they would take you away from me, that they would kill you and leave ... a doppelganger in your place. Someone I didn't know."

Jarlaxle paused, pained. "But they will beat you every day."

"Yes, they will," Zaknafein sighed and smiled sadly at Jarlaxle. "But that's the price I have to pay for remaining who I am. _You_ didn't want to lose me ..." His voice wasn't reproachful - he hadn't done this for Jarlaxle, Jarlaxle hadn't _made_ him do this, he had only reminded Zaknafein of what he wanted himself.

"I like you," Jarlaxle said. That's all the explanation he had. It was sort of a paltry thing to have in his pocket, but he didn't have anything better.

Zaknafein frowned for a moment - that wasn't much of an answer, but then again he wasn't going to complain about these nice words. He kissed Jarlaxle on the neck and whispered, "You saved me." He knew he shouldn't say something like that, but it was true ... and right now he felt so safe and content that he couldn't bring himself to be worried and suspicious.

Jarlaxle sniffled loudly and held Zaknafein in his arms. "You had to do the rest. I only started. You can't - shouldn't - say that I rescued you when you're so young, and I'm not much older, and so many things can happen. I did what I could for the time being. The time might come when I'm supposed to do something again and I don't know it because I didn't see it coming."

He felt like crying. "There's nothing that scares me like that."

"You already did more for me than anyone else." Zaknafein didn't feel like comforting Jarlaxle - he was still feeling horrible, _he_ was the one who needed comfort and reassuring words. Still, he said in a soft voice, "You saved me for the time being ... and that's more than I could have expected. Don't be scared. I'm out of the Academy now."

"Okay." Jarlaxle stroked the scratch on his cheek. "I won't be worried. I promise."

Zaknafein closed his eyes again, and this time he seemed less tensed up. "One of the priestesses wanted to leave a scar," he whispered when Jarlaxle touched the scratch. "To remind me of my place, to give me a lasting punishment, not only wounds that would heal. But another one held her back ... said I was too pretty for that ..."

"That's equally terrible," Jarlaxle whispered.

"Maybe." Zaknafein shrugged. "I'm a toy either way; I'd rather be a toy without scars. And you wouldn't have liked that scar, would you?" He opened his eyes and gave Jarlaxle an insecure look. "You think I'm pretty. Otherwise you wouldn't want me."

"I like you for what's inside your pretty body," Jarlaxle said. "That's what I like." He kissed Zaknafein, running a finger over the scratch and cupping his chin.

"That's why I said the day we met that I was particular about who I had _vith_ with."

"I'm sure you don't only have _vith_ with people you like, or you'd be alone too often. Or you just like many people," Zaknafein argued, but his voice was still quite soft and low. "And if you just liked what is inside my body, you would just spend time with me, not have _vith_ with me ... you do that because you think I'm pretty."

"If I spent time with you doing other things, you wouldn't talk at all," Jarlaxle said, sounding hurt. "Not about important things. You'd be posturing for the crowds and the spies. I like _vith_ because I can take my clothes off and relax."

"That's it?" Now it was Zaknafein who sounded hurt. He straightened up and gave Jarlaxle a half confused, half vexed look. "You do it only to make me talk? I thought you enjoyed it ... I thought it brought you real pleasure, not just relaxation." He felt almost betrayed; he thought that Jarlaxle had only pretended to enjoy it as much as Zaknafein.

"I like _vith_ very much," Jarlaxle said. "If I didn't, wouldn't I be content to sit around in nudity, talking with you?"

He squeezed Zaknafein's waist. "You make me feel so much pleasure. How can I not want to do _vith_ with you every time we meet? It's special."

Zaknafein looked almost suspicious now. "That's not what you just said," he grumbled, but he didn't push Jarlaxle away. He wasn't sure why he felt so hurt. It was humiliating that the priestesses reduced him to a pretty toy, but the thought that anyone, that Jarlaxle might not find him attractive and want him was almost as humiliating. Zaknafein felt that everyone should want him.

"I don't know what you want me to say or what I should not have said that makes you think so," Jarlaxle protested. "If I just liked what is inside of you, I would just spend time with you. If I just liked your body, I would just have _vith _with you. I do both. I don't understand why that doesn't explain how I feel about you."

"I don't know. I'm confused," Zaknafein admitted and pulled Jarlaxle closer. He kissed him on the cheek and sighed. "It just sounded as if you only had _vith_ with me because I want it ... I like you, too."

Jarlaxle mischievously nibbled on his ear. "I know. I have proof you like me. All of you."

"That's hardly a proof," Zaknafein grumbled, but he failed miserably when he tried to glare at Jarlaxle. "And if you keep teasing me, I might decide that I don't like you that much." His eyes were twinkling now, and he smirked a little bit.

"This is a bad place to decide you don't like me," Jarlaxle teased. "You're in an unfamiliar establishment, surrounded by a horde of lustful males."

"If _I_ decide I don't like you, you will be kicked out, not me. And I have quite a few experiences with lustful males ... I wasn't innocent when you met me, and I didn't become innocent afterwards," Zaknafein said with a wink. "I'm sure I could find someone I would enjoy. Maybe not as much as I enjoy you, but still."

Jarlaxle laughed.

"Thank you for the compliment."

"Don't think too much of it." Zaknafein punched him in the side, but once again not very hard. "I said 'maybe'. And I said that I wouldn't mind going with one of those lustful males... or with several of them." Zaknafein grinned and kissed Jarlaxle on the throat, nibbled at the smooth skin. His hand moved to Jarlaxle's bare abdomen and caressed him softly.

"So you'd better make sure I like you," Zaknafein concluded. His voice had dropped to a seductive whisper.

Jarlaxle suppressed a whimper. "How do I do that?"

"I don't know ... I know you're clever and creative, you will think of something ... something very nice and irresistible." Zaknafein kissed Jarlaxle, quickly and teasingly, before he drew back.

Jarlaxle put a finger on his lower lip, blushing, brow furrowed. He looked like he was trying to think of something, but it wasn't working very well.

He stuck his arm outside the curtain around their booth and waved it, calling over a servant. When he found one, he said, "Crab. Whole crab. One. Largest one you have." The servant, another female half-faerie, stared at him. "Now!" She scurried away.

Jarlaxle looked at Zaknafein. "Ever had crab?"

Zaknafein waited with a little smirk on his lips, but he flinched in surprise when Jarlaxle suddenly called the servant. He would have expected anything rather than this. For a moment he was too taken aback to answer.

"No," he managed finally. "But ... all right, you said you were hungry." And Zaknafein had to admit that he, too, was hungry. "Still, this isn't going to make me like you," he admonished him playfully.

Jarlaxle straightened haughtily. "You're not supposed to like me yet. You're supposed to wait until the crab arrives." He leant back in the cushioned booth. "In the meantime, I'll entertain you."

"I think _that_ will make me like you much more," Zaknafein said happily and grinned. For a second he looked quite young, but only until his grin disappeared. "How are you going to entertain me?"

Jarlaxle took off his hat and set it down on the empty side of the booth. Then he grinned, slipped way down on the bench, and disappeared under the table. The mercenary tugged one of Zaknafein's boots off, and then the other. He began massaging Zaknafein's ankles.

Zaknafein's smile grew wider and wider. He laid his head back, but he didn't close his eyes - he still wanted to see Jarlaxle. "Good idea," he said and chuckled. "I definitely like where this is going."

"Your humble servant," Jarlaxle said cheekily.

His fingers moved up, beginning to massage Zaknafein's calves. They were incredibly tense, hard knots of muscle.

Zaknafein smiled again. He liked games as long as he knew the rules. Jarlaxle had scared him with his strange behaviour earlier that evening, but now Zaknafein simply leant back and enjoyed. He moaned quietly when Jarlaxle started to massage him, a moan that was more an expression of pain and tension than of lust. He realised only now that he hadn't relaxed properly since the graduation ceremony.

"Shhh-h-h-h," Jarlaxle soothed. "It will be all right. You will begin to feel better soon." His hands travelled from Zaknafein's calves to his ankles and back, gently rubbing.

Zaknafein's next moan sounded indeed more relaxed, if only a bit. This felt incredibly good ... Zaknafein had never got a real massage in his whole life. He decided that he would have one every day as soon as he could afford it. "Oh, you ... That's nice ..." Zaknafein stammered, unable to say something more sensible.

Jarlaxle nuzzled Zaknafein's shin and continued massaging. When he was satisfied, he moved up, to Zaknafein's knees, paused, and moved his hands further up still, to his thighs. He lay down under the table in such a position that Zaknafein's thighs were easier to reach, and pulled on his knees, gently, to get him to sit more on the edge of the bench.

Zaknafein slid forward on the bench, while he still leant against the backrest, his position somewhere between lying and sitting. He spread his legs a bit and closed his eyes. This was so comfortable that he didn't even notice how vulnerable he was right now.

Jarlaxle slid his hands over Zaknafein's thighs, feeling the strength in them. He could also feel the tension. He began slowly massaging Zaknafein's left thigh, at the same time nuzzling his shin.

For a few moments the massaging hands were almost painful, but the pain turned into soft pleasure as soon as Zaknafein relaxed. He twitched when Jarlaxle's hands moved up his thigh, closer to his groin, but he tried to ignore any lustful thoughts for the moment and just enjoy this massage.

Jarlaxle's hands consistently moved up his leg, circling ever closer, rubbing in tight little circles. Then he finished with Zaknafein's left thigh and moved on to his right, starting down at the knee again.

Zaknafein was going completely limp under Jarlaxle's hands. He had shut out the other voices and smells in the tavern, he only focused on what he felt. It was such a strange thing to be touched so tenderly, to be touched by someone who just wanted to make him feel better.

Jarlaxle worked his way up Zaknafein's thigh, rubbing and soothing hurt muscles. He brushed higher, retreated, higher, retreated. He massaged Zaknafein's thigh from all sides.

Zaknafein simply enjoyed this for what seemed a wonderfully long time to him, but then he finally opened his eyes and reached down to cup Jarlaxle's chin. "I think you convinced me ... you don't have to stay down there that long." He felt suddenly guilty for taking so much and giving nothing back.

Jarlaxle grinned and moved his head, kissing Zaknafein's hand. "I don't have to ... but I want to."

He slid his hands up Zaknafein's thighs and tugged at the strings of his breeches.

Zaknafein smiled and ran his fingers over Jarlaxle's cheek and neck, but he didn't hold him back. "You're worth putting up with the rest of this hell," he mumbled, and his voice took on an unusually tender tone.

Jarlaxle leant into that touch. He loosened the strings of Zaknafein's breeches. His hands lingered there teasingly, and then he slid Zaknafein's breeches down his legs.

Zaknafein was only looking at Jarlaxle, almost mesmerised, while his fingers kept up their tender movements. A shudder ran through his body when air touched his newly exposed skin.

Jarlaxle began licking and sucking Zaknafein's calves. He worked his way up to the back of the fighter's knees. There he lingered, licking and nipping the sensitive skin.

Zaknafein drew his hand back and grabbed the edge of the table instead. He didn't want to force or pressure Jarlaxle. He shivered again, this time in pleasure and anticipation, and his eyes fluttered shut. Jarlaxle was teasing him, but it was a delicious torture that didn't bother Zaknafein in the least.

Jarlaxle licked his way up Zaknafein's shivering thighs ... and stopped. "Do I have permission?" he asked, looking up at Zaknafein slyly.

"What?" Zaknafein gasped. He looked shocked, as if he expected Jarlaxle to get up and leave him like this. But Jarlaxle's sly look made him grin again, and he gave him a soft slap on the cheek, so light that it was more like a pat. "You do have permission ... Actually, I wouldn't expect anything less from my 'humble servant'," he said in a halfway serious voice, which was still filled with lust and at the same time amusement.

Jarlaxle managed to take in his entire erection at once, and didn't waste time being coy now. It was after his stage of teasing.

Zaknafein gasped and clutched the edge of the table. His breathing accelerated within a few moments. He bit on his bottom lip to keep his moans quiet, and only stifled whimpering left his lips. Zaknafein closed his eyes, his vision was getting blurry anyway. Pleasure made him tense up again, but in an entirely enjoyable way.

He didn't manage to remain silent when he climaxed, but in those moments he didn't care if anyone might pass by their booth just in that moment and hear his still not very loud moans.

Jarlaxle stayed still for a moment, then withdrew and gently pulled Zaknafein's breeches up. He redid the strings, tightening and then tying them. "Are you satisfied?" Jarlaxle whispered. He leant against Zaknafein's legs.

Zaknafein looked at him as if Jarlaxle wasn't even speaking a language he understood. He was still far away in that beautiful world of pleasure and satisfaction. Unable to say something he pulled the mercenary onto his lap and to his chest, nuzzling his neck.

Jarlaxle curled up against him, satisfied with that answer. "I care about you a great deal," he whispered again.

Zaknafein held him so tight that he almost crushed the smaller drow in his arms. He kissed Jarlaxle on the neck before he slowly lifted his head. "I really like you," he said in a rough voice, but the words just sounded wrong. He didn't _like_ Jarlaxle, he felt something much stronger, but he had no word for it. "I want to have you with me."

Jarlaxle almost said that he could still be a mercenary, but he clamped his mouth shut. His remarks only got him in trouble when Zaknafein was in a good mood, like now. He would think Jarlaxle had only done what he did to make him agree. Jarlaxle's insight didn't include why Zaknafein would feel this way, but he didn't have to know to shut up.

"I want to have you with me, too. I feel ... purposeful when I am with you."

"I feel happy when I'm with you. At peace. It's like the world finally left me alone for a while." Zaknafein sighed and looked Jarlaxle in the eyes. He wondered suddenly why he hadn't wanted to see the mercenary earlier - he doubted that he would have been able to forget the graduation ceremony even for a few moments if Jarlaxle had not distracted him.

Jarlaxle ran his hands over Zaknafein's back. The urge to say something - to do anything - to offer to take Zaknafein in - was overwhelming. He just knew Zaknafein would refuse. He wouldn't want to give up his hard earned power - not after going through so much to get it.

Even if that power was going to kill him someday.

Jarlaxle wanted to bang his head against the wall of the booth. He wasn't like Zaknafein. He couldn't shut everything out and only see this day. He saw entire decades ahead of them, full of suffering because Zaknafein wouldn't join Bregan D'aerthe.

"I really care about you," he said, desperately trying to say anything that intimated what he wanted to ask without having ask it and ruin everything.

As Zaknafein's senses were returning to him, he could imagine what Jarlaxle was thinking about. It was nothing new, after all, and Jarlaxle had never given up his hope of convincing Zaknafein.

"I know," he replied softly and rubbed his cheek against Jarlaxle's. "I know you'll be there when I need you. Even thought we can't be together all the time. We're too different. We want different things." He didn't want to start this argument again, he just wanted Jarlaxle to know that Zaknafein hadn't changed his mind.

Jarlaxle's lower lip trembled. "You are not mad at me?"

"Do you really think I _could_ be mad at you right now?" Zaknafein smiled, but his smile wasn't as happy as a few minutes earlier. Reality was always catching up with him too quickly.

Jarlaxle nodded rapidly, like a child. "I was thinking about something while you were talking that you didn't want to talk about and you already told me no, and I wanted to ask again. It would have made you angry with me if I had asked again and I wanted to anyway, and I was thinking about it while you were talking."

He looked at Zaknafein with wide eyes.

Zaknafein blinked several times, slightly confused by this stream of words, before he shrugged. "Maybe. Just don't ask again. Things are going to be fine ... You won't lose me, and that's what counts, no?"

Jarlaxle kissed him, desperately.

Zaknafein returned the kiss tenderly, still holding him close. He wanted Jarlaxle to know, to feel that he cared just as much, even if he didn't know how to show it.

They parted only a minute later when they heard the female slave return. Jarlaxle quickly withdrew and sat down next to Zaknafein, winking at him. The young fighter just grinned, but he said nothing. They could continue this after their meal.


End file.
